An Education of a Rose
by Apollo Wings
Summary: or "Pride And Prejudice And Dragons" - a pre-Blight story about Kayleigh Cousland and her life and love as a Lady of the Court with social commentary. A mixture of Thedas and Medieval viewpoints for flavour. Rated T for some language and alluded scenes of an adult nature. Artwork by Chenria of Deviantart. Beta work by Meli Landry. Do read and review!
1. Old Fishwives

**Author note: **This story is actually completed before I started posting. The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

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**Chapter 1 – Dragon 9:27**

**Old Fishwives**

Kayleigh Cousland sat fidgeting in the Tevinter silver-backed glass, the creams and powders applied to her face like a garish doll and her bistre hair braided, plaited and coiffed high in a ridiculously ornate style. It took too long to look this dreadful.

Today of all days did she have to look such a bloody tart? Then again, not everyday was a young noble woman presented to the court. She stood, straightening out the bodice of the tight corset under her breasts, which made the ruddy things look like conical protrusions on her chest. The neckline was also too low. It made her look as if she were all shoulder and breast, her waistline nipped in unnaturally and her hips as if she were hiding two bustles on either side. At least she would only ever have to wear the dress twice in her lifetime.

What she might have given for Nan to have helped her get ready rather than her mother. However, Nan remained in Highever, looking after Oren with father. Mother was representing the Teyrnir for the Landsmeets this year, still training Fergus to take her place before… he took over as Teyrn.

"I do wish you'd stop scowling like that. The wind shall change and you'll end up with such a frightful look on that beautiful face of yours." Her sister-by-law laughed from her chair in the parlour, looking up from tatting her lacework to cast a glance over her.

"I swear, you lie one more time about my face and your nose will grow." Kayleigh smirked, peering closely in the mirror at the woman of eighteen years with a too square face and too long nose. Her eyes were always nice of course, a deep green that matched her mother. It was a pity she had the aquiline Bryland features set on a robust Cousland face, just as her brother Fergus had. It looked nice on a man, not a woman.

"Nonsense, you have a wonderful Fereldan face." Oriana groaned.

"Which is Antivan code for looking as if one were a boar no?" Kayleigh laughed. "You're so transparent."

"If you won't accept my praise I shall find someone who will." Oriana sniffed.

Kayleigh sighed, looking sadly at her pretty sister-by-law. Sleek caramel hair, full lips, deep brown eyes, small upturned nose and even after giving birth to her nephew Oren three years ago, her waist remained trim. The eighteen year old felt inelegant in comparison.

"Please stay, if mother returns she'll put more lip cream on and rouge my cheeks so much I shall look more foolish than I do now," She pleaded. Oriana giggled lightly, her native accent giving it a faint purr behind the sound. "Now have you any foreign tricks to make me look pretty or will I just get presented looking like an ill-bred crofter's daughter?"

Oriana laughed more as she approached the younger woman, glancing at them both in the mirror. "I see a lovely young woman, not pretty...pretty is an ugly, common word. She is beautiful. True, she should spend less time on the archery range and perhaps she'll look less like an ill-bred crofter's daughter, as she puts it," Kayleigh scowled at the reflection of her sister-by-law and patted her shoulders self-consciously. They were not that bad. The dress had been cut wider on the shoulders to accommodate those of an archer. It was true her shoulders were a bit wide – but most noblewomen entertained archery and swordplay as excellent exercise. With not too many years since the Orlesians had occupied Ferelden, and had been beaten back – it did not do badly to know how to defend ones self. "But she's slim and has child-bearing hips."

"My family is bred for breeding." Kayleigh patted her hips proudly, remembering Oriana's woes about how large the Cousland heads were – how Cousland women naturally had larger hips to make up for that. Oren's birth three years past always gave her a horrid premonition about birthing any children of her own.

"Exactly!" Oriana smiled. "And your smile; now I know you have a lovely smile."

"Not when I have lip cream staining my teeth." Kayleigh countered.

"Is there no satisfying you?" Oriana huffed, picking up a handkerchief.

"No, honestly I can think of nothing that satisfies me." Kayleigh pouted petulantly.

"Do you demand satisfaction?" Oriana purred.

"Meet me in the sparring ring in two minutes. I have to hunt down my daggers." She replied tartly. Oriana burst into laughter.

"A woman never fights with swords, but kind words and poison go a long way," Kayleigh stilled at the admission from her sister-by-law. Oriana pulled a sophisticated topaz ring from her finger and held it out in front of the eighteen-year-old noble. "Tipped with a permanent poison, one scratch and even the beefiest of men will be sluggish and slow of wit," She then tapped her necklace and the amethyst jewel that dangled between tanned collarbones. "But always keep ones antidotes on ones self in case of accidental dosing."

"You're a sneaky little Antivan."

"When one lives in a country of assassins and intrigue just short of the Game of Orlais, one has to have an upper hand." Oriana sniffed indignantly.

"Did I ever tell you that you're my favourite sister-by-law?" Kayleigh smirked.

"And your only one; now put your shoes on and I will fix your make-up, we can't have you presented in this state."

Kayleigh sat down with her mouth open like a codfish. "You lied! You said –"

"I am allowed to lie. I'm older." Oriana smiled.

"Bitter old crone." Kayleigh jabbed.

"Pale wallflower barbarian." Oriana jabbed back.

Kayleigh was still with her mouth agape. Oriana wiped the dampened handkerchief on her face and lips so she could start with a clean canvas for the artwork her make-up would turn out to be.

* * *

Kayleigh tottered nervously in the ludicrous dress. Tradition dictated that the dress worn to presentation at court was the wedding dress of any noble woman regardless of money to be inherited or independent wealth. She could feel all eyes on her as she stepped in the lower part of the Landsmeet Chamber, the chilly spring air not touching the stagnant room. At the end on the dual thrones sat Queen Anora and King Cailan. The daughter of the Hero of River Dane looked an elegant vision of perfection in a pale lilac gown, while the son of Maric the Saviour was regally strong and boyishly handsome still, despite the strain of the crown two years on his head.

She curtseyed so low that her knees almost touched the floor and the heavy cream damask crumpled around her in a puddle. She bowed her head and closed her eyes.

"You may stand, Lady Cousland." King Cailan finally spoke after what enough time that her knees wobbled under her skirts until she straightened out. She stood straight-backed, taking care not to breathe too heavily in the tight corseting of the bodice else her chest heave. King Cailan may be a well-known philanderer and had a few official mistresses, but she was a Cousland – that was not a befitting position for someone of her class. Neither did she think him attractive. He was quite handsome and charming from how much she knew of him and had spoken to him in the past. However, he was not her idea of an attractive man. Queen Anora smiled weakly at her and King Cailan grinned.

"Thank you Your Majesty. I stand before you, a descendant of Calenhad the Great and of the Cousland and Bryland lines, to be accepted into the court as a Lady of the nobility." Kayleigh kept her voice clear and her chin steady from shaking with all eyes on her. Brevity was the soul of wit here in the Landsmeets; it was not long before one could not stand the droning according to her mother and more recently her brother, learning the ropes for his eventual succession as it were.

The elderly Bann Gregory of Waking Sea was peering over the banister of the Chamber's upper floor and making a gesture at her to Lord Iminric. Lady Alfstanna, daughter of Bann Gregory, stood behind Kayleigh. Her cousin, Lady Habren, did as well. Tradition said she could have two women to stand alongside her, women accepted into the court themselves. Alfstanna being her elder by three years, Habren the heir of South Reach and only child of her mother's brother, her uncle, Arl Leonas and two years her senior. She might have chosen Lady Delilah Howe but the two women found themselves in a falling out recently. Alfstanna and Habren had been friends since they'd still been in pinafores, chasing in the mud playing knights and damsels with the great fire-breathing dragon of her brother Fergus.

The King looked like he was about to chuckle when he caught himself, smiling widely. "Certainly." He said with a measured tone.

Kayleigh curtseyed again before rising on her own time and taking her exit to the side of the hall. It was not as if she was the entire reason the Banns, Arls, Teyrns, Lords and Ladies of the court and Ferelden gathered here this week. Many other sons and daughters of the nobility had to be presented to the court on the third day of the Landsmeet, pledges of vassalage renewed, and official inheritance of family lands, marriages, births – all needed to be acknowledged by the court and recorded.

Once she was outside of the Landsmeet Chamber, she leaned back on the hard wall, sighing with relief. "Did you honestly think they would say no cousin?" Habren snorted.

"No. I just thought to make a fool of myself." Kayleigh replied with no false modesty for her blundering nature. She envied Habren a certain extent, having the pure Bryland looks despite how they both carried the same amount of the blood even if they did not share name, Habren was slender and graceful by nature and it set her teeth on edge in the unfairness of it sometimes.

Alfstanna was quiet, looking with a sad fondness at the wall where, if she possessed such an ability to see through stone, she would have been able to see her father and brother. "Iminric is joining the Chantry. He says that he wishes to become a Templar." Habren gasped outrageously at the admission and Kayleigh had the decency not to blurt the first thing out that entered her mind.

"But that means he'll be –" Habren started.

"Yes. He abdicates all inheritance. I must marry within the year." Alfstanna smiled grimly.

"But your father –" Habren paused.

"Has made arrangements with Lord Mathuin Wulff; we marry in the summer if the Landsmeet accepts," Alfstanna sighed heavily. "I do like the man but I do wish I had my own choice."

"None of us will. At least the man is… ruggedly handsome." Kayleigh sympathised.

"I wish your brother were still unattached. I would have entertained a betrothal to Fergus." Habren smiled wistfully. Alfstanna chuckled genuinely, tilting her face toward the vaulted ceiling.

"Fergus has a son now, no? Presented as formal heir to Highever now he's three?" She enquired. Habren deflated with a moue of distaste.

"He does. Oren is such a sweet toddling lad," Kayleigh confirmed, twisting her thin lips into a smile at Habren's loss. "I hear Arl Rendon will be making Thomas his heir to Amaranthine." She added as gossip.

"No! I thought Nathaniel –" Habren gushed, all sadness gone in the face of some scandalous gossiping.

The girls, each not long a woman, walked and talked gaily together. Alfstanna stood on the far right, Habren in the middle, and Kayleigh on the left as they strolled idly toward the gardens. They would hardly be expected to be back in court until tomorrow for the marriage proposals and agreements of the Landsmeet. Alfstanna removed her blue shawl as they came into the marble carved courtyard, placing it on the bench before they sat. Habren sighed heavily. "According to my father, we're all too young to entertain Landsmeet gossip."

"As if that ever stopped you." Alfstanna retorted smartly. Habren scowled in the most well mannered fashion that had ever been possible.

"I try, I honestly do. However, with your impending nuptials, the changing heirs and everyone going abroad to study the cultures," She looked dreamily into the sky, as if imagining herself in one of the foreign countries, studying. The only thing Habren would study would be the men! "I wonder if Bann Teagan will have a marriage to ask of the Landsmeet or if he's finally got some milksop with a bastard." Habren laughed.

"Likely the latter," Kayleigh giggled. "Oh he's a handsome man but also quite the man about Redcliffe, according to Lady Isolde's handmaiden."

"You scoundrel! I thought the Hermit Teyrn remained aloof on his cliffs so he could stay out of court intrigue and gossip."

"Do I look like my father?" Kayleigh snapped, pointedly ignoring the hermit comment.

"Not to stay out of southern affairs? My father says it'll be the death of your father by not making friends in the south." Alfstanna nodded.

"Us Brylands are probably the most southern the Couslands entertain, no?" Habren laughed. Despite the name, South Reach was hardly southern at all, merely the southernmost reaches of the north. It would be more aptly named Middle Reach. Even then, if mother had not been a Bryland before she had married father, Kayleigh was hardly sure they would entertain South Reach. The north always felt a world away from the rest of Ferelden and it was quite lonesome.

Kayleigh laughed hesitantly, neither denying nor confirming Habren's astute observation. "Who else is being presented today? I fear I was too preoccupied with my own presentation that I ignored the role call to some extent." She said, changing the subject.

Habren brightened considerably. "Well of course Thomas Howe and Dairren Loren were presented. Your future husband too, Alfstanna." Green Bryland eyes sparkled with the mischief of making Alfstanna groan. The heir of Waking Sea straightened out her smart cornflower blue dress, primly ignoring the jab Habren had made of Alfstanna having to marry a much younger man.

"Mathuin is a delightfully mature young man." Kayleigh patted Alfstanna's hand, hoping that it reassured her. Those being presented were all of similar age and knew each other at least sparingly, but their range of maturity was varying. Habren and Alfstanna may have been presented three years and two years previously, but the three young women were of a similar mind in many ways.

"Of course, his pedigree is that of his father." Alfstanna snorted. Kayleigh could not help herself alongside Habren with laughing too. It was raucous tittering about the bushy whiskers the young man had seemingly sprouted overnight alongside the looming height as if he were hewn to too large a scale and it was oddly infectious in its own way, causing them to chuckle more.

"Honestly! You'd think we were sizing up Mabari!" Kayleigh managed to gasp, pink in the cheeks under her make-up. This caused more laughter for the three women as they simultaneously imagined the second eldest Wulff son lolloping over a verdant field after a stick.

"It's so unfair you know, about Mabari that is." Habren finally wheezed.

"Is it?" Alfstanna asked.

"Oh it is! The both of you have imprinted hounds and they just won't go near me!" Habren complained, her brows furrowing together.

"I'm sure in time you can have your own Mabari, as well as a husband to match." Kayleigh jabbed her cousin.

Alfstanna gave her the literal version of the jab in with a bony elbow in the ribs, hurting even through the heavily boned corseting. "I hear Mathuin is fond of long walks on the moors of West Hill!" Habren grit out through clenched teeth, her shoulders shaking with her silent tremors of laughter.

"You two are as bad as each other!" Alfstanna shook her head, trying not to smile. "He is a bit hirsute though, is he not?"

"They say hirsute men help make the most adorable babies." Kayleigh sighed.

"So who are you two looking at – any men particularly or are your parents forcing you into marriage like mine?" Alfstanna said after a while, looking at her hands in her lap.

"If Arl Rendon makes Thomas his heir I suppose my betrothal to Nathaniel will be withdrawn. I hadn't needed to think on men and whom I'll end up with all my life and now this happens!" Kayleigh moaned. "I do wonder why though. Last I heard Nathaniel was squiring and studying in Tantervale, or was it Starkhaven?"

"With the Vaels of Starkhaven," Alfstanna confirmed. "Just imagine the slight brogue he should come back with though!"

"You're welcome to him! He was always too serious for my tastes!" Kayleigh snorted. The Howe children were a study in contrasts, Nathaniel was serious and inflexible, intense in all his ways; Thomas coarse and juvenile, but he was able to make allies wherever he opened his mouth; whereas, Delilah melancholic and distant, seemingly upon another plane than the one they existed upon.

"If we're honest, that never matters. What matters are what we bring to our marriages. Let's face it; you're not the heir with Fergus and his whelpling." Habren sneered at the thought of her nephew. Kayleigh managed to hide her upset at this because she was quite fond of the small boy and her cousin both. "You should have a man with an inheritance at the least because you bring the Calenhad bloodline to theirs. One of the closest relations to the King as well other than the Guerrins, it's a powerful position to be in."

"And which eligible bachelor will you have!" Kayleigh laughed. "As if you would leave me anyone! Perhaps a crofter or fishwife I will be before the year is out!"

Habren batted her on the arm playfully. "Oh no! Even if that happened to you my dear, you would be welcome always in South Reach! Rather a spinster or dowager than… oh Maker!"

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_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	2. Dancing Ladies

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces. A double update today. This is 1/2 so don't think is your sole capture of this little story!

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

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**Chapter 2 – Dragon 9:27**

**Dancing Ladies**

The three young women continued until lunch, gossiping about eligible men of the nobility, their plans for the year and arranging visits to each other. They weren't cynical of love even with their varying takes on what a good marriage was, it was that love and marriage were never synonymous in the nobility. You got married, had children, one day love might blossom, or the mutual love of your children would be enough. They still somewhat entertained the thought that a man might love them before marriage and without their own inheritances and pedigrees. However, none of them truly believed that it might happen.

After lunch, Habren went to the Lorens of Oswin with her father to see if Bann Loren was amenable to a marriage contract, and Alfstanna was formally sat next to Mathuin Wulff in the Landsmeet Chamber because the court had approved of their betrothal. Kayleigh sat with her brother and sister-by law in the Highever box as mother sat with the Howes of Amaranthine. Arl Rendon seemed neither upset nor angry, but disappointed that the betrothal between herself and Nathaniel was revoked, seeing as Thomas was made heir. Nathaniel was 'disgraced' according to the Arl and in exile in the Free Marches now, not squiring or studying, perhaps he had chased too much skirt in Starkhaven and had a bastard? Kayleigh briefly felt sad for the man that had been an erstwhile friend and confidante, even if he was wholly too serious. In many ways that was what had made him more her friend – they were not the same.

What might have been Rendon Howe's true upset was that the betrothal between Thomas and she, which he had proposed in the stead of Nathaniel, was not going to be confirmed. He was just too… immature rather than young; even her parents could see her distaste toward the idea. At least mother was tactful with her words.

Nevertheless, in the evening, amongst dancing in the Bryland estate of Juniper Keep, the three women came together again and swapped information. Habren had changed from her pale green dress she'd worn earlier in the day for a gown of dark pink velvet and pale pink silk. Unluckily for Kayleigh she'd not changed from her presentation dress and Alfstanna still wore her cornflower blue. Honestly, Alfstanna and the young Cousland were both more comfortable in trousers and shirts. "Dairren is apparently not interested and neither is Bann or Lady Loren," Habren started, her slim face marred by her scowl. "I think he's fey or his parents are fools."

"Mathuin is a great fan of the Hunts and a keen archer. Not so much of the Tourneys held in the autumn up in the north. At least we can talk of horseplay and hunting in the evenings," Alfstanna said sadly. "I shan't know what else to say to him."

"I am going to die an unmarriageable crone." Kayleigh sighed.

"At least we will have each other, cousin." Habren smiled in companionship.

"I think Dairren used to watch Fergus incredibly closely when he competed in the Tourneys." Kayleigh thought aloud.

"Does everyone adore your brother?" Alfstanna stifled a giggle as she made the comment.

"I do." Habren said dreamily.

"I most certainly believe it's the fact he's going to be Teyrn of Highever." Kayleigh sighed with a shake of her head.

"I heard Bann Teagan was asking about you, by the way, my friend the unmarriageable crone." Alfstanna said offhandedly.

"He can ask but I doubt he'd go further than that. The man prefers his life as a bachelor." She said dryly. In addition to that, there was the fact that he was a man of southern lands.

"You could be the one to tame the elusive Teagan Guerrin!" Habren more or less squealed excitedly.

"It might have been Arl Eamon asking on his behalf though. He's been milling around like a champion fishwife about Teagan not being married." Alfstanna admitted.

"You should ask him to dance! Go ask him! One of us needs to marry someone they choose!" Habren cajoled, tugging on the cream damask sleeve of her dress. Kayleigh rolled her eyes.

"A dance does not indicate marriage, especially if _I_ dance with the man. I'll probably step on his toes." She sighed dramatically.

"Then I can nurse him back to health from broken feet and I'll have him." Habren laughed sarcastically.

"It's a plan, I don't doubt that." Alfstanna shrugged.

"You're both horrid people." Kayleigh pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the thought of Habren playing the nurse to anybody. It was too laudable!

"Oh go try. It can't hurt… anyone but Teagan that is." Alfstanna pushed the young woman toward the Bann drinking by the ballroom floor, in conversation with the elderly Bann Reginalda of White River.

Kayleigh bit back her comment as she walked, concentrating on pointing her toes so she did not fall arse over elbow and truly make a spectacle. She waited patiently until noticed; Bann Reginalda smiled wryly and excused herself to speak to Bann Ceorlic Junior of Lothering, giving Kayleigh a 'subtle' nudge as she walked past. Kayleigh turned to Teagan.

"Did you want to dance my Lady?" He asked, a polite smile filling his dashing features.

Kayleigh blushed beneath the warm layers powder and creams on her face and nodded dumbly, cursing her inability to form a coherent sentence at that moment in time. Teagan Guerrin was attractive; there was no doubt about it, his lazy smile warm and inviting. He put his elbow out at an angle and she held softly onto it, making sure she was not hanging on him as they made their way into the dancing couples. Fergus danced with Oriana – the two always took to the floor for the dances and they were beautiful together. Habren was probably seething!

Arl Eamon with Arlessa Isolde looked an odd pair, the Arl looking older than his years and with his younger Orlesian wife, those premature years looked to weigh heavier on his face. That was a marriage not so favourably looked upon but the Guerrin family were the in-laws of the King. The late Queen Rowan, mother of their current King, had been born Guerrin. It was generally many widows and widowers as well as married or betrothed couples on the floor. Kayleigh suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious, being a part of an unmarried, unbetroth couple.

They lined up, men on one side and women on the other. Never let it be said the musicians uncle Leonas had hired were subpar. They moved seamlessly between the filler music for between dances to the Nevarran Schleifer. The women all raised their hands to above their right shoulder the men copying the move but as a mirror image. Then they started with a clap and leap, keeping the beat of three steps per bar of music, slow but easy to follow. Even with her innate clumsiness it was nigh impossible to falter noticeably beneath her long skirts of her dress.

"Lady Habren and Lady Alfstanna said Arl Eamon was enquiring about you and me…" Kayleigh faltered as Teagan twirled her to the other side of him. She tried to compose herself properly.

"I enquired." Teagan said calmly, his own functions seemingly intact despite dancing and making light conversation.

"I see. To what end?" Kayleigh smiled; Habren would have a field day! Teagan pulled her back toward him until they were flush against one another, one hand to her hip and the other clasped to her hand not on his shoulder. He raised one dark gingery brown eyebrow.

"There are many ends one would ask of between two people."

She stifled an alarmed giggle, mortified that she gave away anything at Teagan's innuendo! "I see." She said cordially.

Teagan hmm'ed in acknowledgement, and they devolved to silence, dancing and listening with the music. "I would wait a few years regardless. Until next time my Lady." Teagan bowed as the dance ended. Kayleigh curtseyed.

"Until next time my Lord."

* * *

"Well?" Habren hissed.

"I neither crippled nor married him during the dance." Kayleigh shrugged, her tone derisive. Likely because she had frightened, as a mouse at the slightest innuendo, but of that was the sort of man he was, perhaps he was not the sort of man she sought.

"There you have it. Unfortunately, that means Teagan may be stuck with Habren. Maker knows the both of you are the most eligible women of the country with Delilah. If either of you see Lady Delilah of the Morose with him... Poor Teagan." Alfstanna shrugged with a shake of her head.

"You're a harpy, Alfstanna."

"I can't hear you; I believe my betrothed wishes the next dance." Alfstanna chuckled lowly, going to the beckoning Mathuin in the Carole circle.

"Wear your hobnail boots! I'm not nursing _you_ back to health!" Habren giggled. The two remaining women pushed back to the table with the glasses of wine laid out, each picking up a glass daintily.

"We'll be a pair of maiden aunts by the time the year is out. I swear we'll be left with Vaughan Kendalls, Teagan Guerrin and Thomas Howe." Habren shuddered when Kayleigh was finished. It was unspoken why Vaughan and Thomas were unsuitable but despite his alarming attractiveness, neither of the women would have a hope in the Void of taming Teagan.

"Arl Urien tries to keep Vaughan in line but his dalliances even keep father from enquiring about the man." Habren confessed. "I hear Bann Roderick is trying to match up that knight of yours. But a general lack of nice, genteel girls in the lower nobility has been rather hard for him to overcome."

"Which knight of mine?" Kayleigh furrowed her brow. Her sable haired cousin groaned and put her hands on either side of her head, pointing it toward a man in Highever heraldry standing as closely as he could to the door, the ginger-haired man looking to bolt any second. "Roland?"

"He is the sole heir of Hunter's Fell." Habren shrugged.

"The smallest Bannorn in the country, it would be seen almost as if I married anyone! You can't be suggesting…"

"You could be a crofter's wife before the year is out!" Habren laughed. Kayleigh scowled but did not stop the covert glances toward the knight as the cousins continued their yearly gossip and speculation. He was handsome to be sure. However, all eyes would be on Alfstanna and Mathuin soon enough, she wouldn't have to think about such ludicrous things as marriage until Alfstanna had an heir of her own. Until then she was safe. Her generation had only started to have children with people like her damned brother begetting about, she could have a few more years as an unmarried woman. "Didn't you hear me?" Habren snapped her tapered fingers in front of her face.

"Hmm?"

"I said, there's a rumour going about saying the Queen is barren," Habren sighed. "Nobody will own up to starting it but it's circulated around the court all afternoon."

"Surely that means the King's mistresses are barren also. I wouldn't pay any mind to them if I were Anora although they're bound to crop up," Kayleigh shrugged. "In any case, it took Queen Rowan, Maker rest her soul, three years until she had King Cailan and Arlessa Isolde near fifteen years for Lord Connor – King Cailan is half Theirin and Guerrin, and it might take some time."

"They're saying it's the Maker's anger that a commoner sits on the throne." Habren said cordially enough, which Kayleigh took to mean that Habren was also in the 'They' mentioned. It had been a slight in many respects that Anora and Cailan had been betrothed almost since birth, seeing as Teyrn Loghain was new nobility then and without a drop of Calenhad's blood. But that slight upon Arl Leonas and Teyrn Cousland had been dropped years before King Maric's tragic death.

"Calenhad himself was a commoner before he united the Alamarri to form Ferelden; we owe our nobility to great common men and women who continued their lines with greatness. Teyrn Loghain happens to be one of those men and Queen Anora is her father's daughter. We're just further down those lines than they are." Habren rolled her eyes; her cousin had probably been given this talk before by her late mother or from uncle Leonas, perhaps her Nanny even.

"Oh do give it a rest dear, you can be so righteous it hurts sometimes. I do love you cousin, but there's no law against it so I'll speak my mind." She smiled to herself and sighed happily. "I could do with some more of that Tevene wine. Would you like another glass, too?"

Kayleigh rolled her eyes subtly, just because she thought her cousin might get into trouble one day for running her mouth did not mean anything. Habren's heart was in the right place after all. "Oh, yes. And get one for Alfstanna too, I think her blushing groom to be stood on her toes, she looks in more dire need than us." Her cousin glanced over at their limping friend, chuckling under her breath.

"Maker she does, doesn't she?"

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	3. Summer Wedding

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces. A double update today. This is 2/2 so if you haven't read chapter 2, head back now!

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Dragon 9:27**

**Summer Wedding**

"I can't believe that dress." Habren hissed to Kayleigh where they stood as maids for their mutual friend getting married. Kayleigh rolled her eyes, when Alfstanna had married the style of presentation dress had a high waist just under the breasts, billowing loosely until it reached the floor. The colour was beautiful, ivory trimmed with teal lace on the sleeves and beset with a string of pearls around her slender neck. Still, Habren could tear the slightest of problems with a dress into a rip of fashion disaster.

"It was the fashion three years ago. You yourself had a lovely pink dress in that style no?" Kayleigh reminded her cousin as they stood in matching beige-brown dresses as Alfstanna's bridesmaids.

"But that's when it was fashionable. I wouldn't wear it now!" Habren laughed under her breath. Kayleigh thought on Habren's presentation dress. The style two years ago had been high-necked with puffed sleeves, more hideous in her opinion than the low neckline and unnatural silhouette made by her own. Of course, Habren might have the same dress changed into the current fashion when she married rather than the ignominy of wearing outdated fashions.

Alfstanna smiled in her make-up, shining more than her ladies because it was her day. "So tell me I look like utterly bovine then Habren." The heir of Waking Sea sighed, adjusting the pearls around her neck.

"Completely porcine actually, but it suits you dear. You don't look so petite compared to your intended." Habren twittered, probably in a way the heir of South Reach thought was hilarious.

"You look positively mousy in that colour, it doesn't suit you," Alfstanna sniffed back. "It makes you a bit of a wallflower."

"At least it doesn't make me look matronly," Habren snapped before covering her mouth with her hand. Kayleigh looked away, calming what temper that seethed under the surface at the comment. She knew the dress was unflattering to her height and figure. The cut and fabric made her homely and ungainly but Alfstanna had chosen them at the same time her presentation dress had been made, so she wore it for her friend. "I… I did not mean that so harshly. It just came out."

"At least it's truthful. I do look matronly in this dress. Perhaps we should focus on the day rather than the dresses though, Habren?" Kayleigh croaked, hoping her voice did not betray her.

"Did you just apologise? That was… unexpected," Alfstanna blinked rapidly, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, we're being cruel to one another. I think we all look fine actually, rather becoming of young ladies."

"Matronly young ladies." Kayleigh uttered darkly.

Habren had the decency to look ashamed by some degree, but preened in the knowledge she had the elegant Bryland looks despite them both having the same amount of Bryland blood.

Alfstanna briefly looked pained, her veneer of sarcastic calm that she'd presented to Habren and Kayeligh faltering. The young bride took a deep breath before putting on her best face as the harpsichord music started in the Chantry. She took one last look behind her at her friends before she walked through the doors.

* * *

_Bann Alfstanna Wulff of Waking Sea_, the heir tasted the words in her mouth as much as she could still feel Mathuin's fervent kiss on her lips. They felt swollen! At least the man was eager and clearly seemed to adore her, the look on his face when she had donned riding leathers with her bow for the Spring Hunt had been ecstatic and that was enough for her. Alfstanna enjoyed riding, the rough 'male' sports of polo and going on the hunts with, once upon a time, her father and brother as well as the Tourneys. Mathuin would not limit her and that would be enough, she would once again not be alone for those rides.

Alfstanna only wished Iminric had been able to attend the wedding. Her elder brother had been her world since she was small. She looked up to the man born in the last vestiges of the Occupation just as many looked upon Teyrn Loghain – as her hero. Now he had gone to the Chantry and anyone with two thoughts to rub together could see the ex-Templars begging for a fix of lyrium. One day he would not be a fit young man but a doddering ex-Templar and then he would face that fate. Clearly, he did not think that would ever be the case though. Alfstanna swore to herself that when that day came he would not find Waking Sea unwelcoming. He was the prodigal son of Waking Sea, and he would always be.

She sighed. Today was an important, joyous day in her young life, not for lamenting an absent brother. "I'm so proud of you Alfstanna; just remember you'll always be my little girl." Her father smiled affectionately, embracing his daughter as she stepped outside of the Chantry with her arm linked to her new husbands. He was not getting younger; her father had been old to have Iminric, even older for her childhood. He was positively elderly but most standards, his hands shook as he ate his supper and he could not mount a horse nor shoot a bow anymore. Alfstanna felt her eyes prick with tears as he held her in his shaking arms.

"Your little married girl now Papa," She sniffed sadly, taking the time to trace the lines of his face into her memory, the dark blue eyes, and his lopsided smile – just as she had for her brother a mere two months before her wedding. "I just wish Iminric were here."

"That could be arranged." Her mouth dropped at the sight of her brother, his long hair shorn short into the style of a soldier, his face clean of stubble and beard but the final shock was the chest plate with the Sword of Mercy emblazoned on the front in red lacquer.

"Iminric! Thank the Maker, I was so upset that you wouldn't be here!" She unlinked her arm from Mathuin, clasping around her brother tight and kissing him on the cheek.

"Ser Iminric now, sister," He sighed, stepping back neatly. Alfstanna trained her face neutral despite the fact her heart broke from not having her brother nearby in Fargate Castle and the fact she had become the heir in the wake of his joining the Templar order. It was almost too much, added to her marriage to a man she hardly knew, except as a childhood friend and an even briefer courtship allowed them. "So this is the man who has your hand?"

She bit her tongue that if he had been around he could have known Mathuin; such comments had no place today. "Lord Iminric, I'm so glad you could come today." Her husband put his hand out and shook heartily with her brother. They would have been fast friends, Alfstanna was sure of it.

"Again, it's Ser Iminric, but it's a pleasure. I am just sorry I missed the service. There was trouble with the summer flooding on the north road. The horses were skittish, you see… however, it's a poor excuse. I should have been here," Iminric took in a deep breath through his nose of the warm scented air, incense from the Chantry and Ferelden in bloom. "And your ladies in waiting for the day, I knew it would be Ladies Cousland and Bryland. Both as beautiful as I last saw you."

"Thank you Ser Iminric, but it was only a couple of months ago was it not?" Habren smiled, having most probably realised how she should curb her tongue today of all days. Kayleigh had been stiff and dark despite putting on a good face as she had too. The only person truly happy today might have been her father. Life just so happened to go this way.

"Indeed it was! Time seems to pass so quickly when enjoying one's self and I have found a profound peace in the ranks of the Templars." He answered cordially to the dark haired heir of South Reach.

"You have? That is most surprising; many Templars in West Hills seem to have a veneer of suppressed upset about them. Or so I gathered." Mathuin blinked, her husband may have looked like the typical over-sized Fereldan barbarian that foreigners expected them to be but behind that was a keen intelligence that would make loving the man all the easier. She could thank the Maker for that.

"I make no secret that many Templars were but babes abandoned to the mercies of the Maker through His servants of the Chantry, a great deal more children of a first marriage or a tryst and unwanted. Some of them find a great succour in our order but some will resent their duty to the Maker." Iminric answered, his eyes hooded and disinterested. Alfstanna worried the inside of her lip to stop herself from screaming at him. It did no good to spoil the day. She shot a glance back at her two friends, her maids for the day in the hopes at least Habren would say something distracting.

"Then I suppose we're all happy you have found such solace Ser Iminric," Kayleigh nodded. "But today we are celebrating Alfstanna and Mathuin's union rather than speaking of the Templars."

Alfstanna relaxed. The subject moved on as the newly married couple made their way to their carriage. Her two bridesmaids, her father, and brother rode in the carriage with Arl Wulff and the heir of West Hills, who was also her new brother-by-law, Henry Wulff. Maybe Kayleigh would find Henry cordial enough to court the man; he was to be an Arl of course, which was worth thought. Alfstanna might speak to her friend over the wedding luncheon about it. Then they would be sisters-by-law. As cruel as it was, Habren was not the sort of woman to find the rugged Wulff looks to be appealing nor complimentary to her daintiness.

* * *

It was cooler in South Reach during the autumn than it was in Highever or Waking Sea. Habren enjoyed the gentle breezes, looking out at the distant golden fields and the sheep that ambled on even more distant hills. It was neither the crashing waves of Waking Sea nor the dramatic cliffs of Highever but it was home. As much as she enjoyed spending time with her dear Alfstanna and cousin Kayleigh, she found herself enjoying brief moments of solitude before heading back to Denerim during the winters until after the spring Landsmeets, spending her summers up with her cousins, aunt, and uncle in Highever. It was the way it had always been.

South Reach was an Arling that was rich in mining interests; silver and rosy gold came from the hills and valleys. The people of the Arling wove the best textiles in the country, too. That was where the money was. As many might have thought her a vapid, thoughtless cow, Habren was intelligent enough to understand where her interests would lie for when the day of her inheritance would come. She tried not to think of her father as a mortal man, but ever since the death of her mother in childbirth four years ago to a babe that didn't survive the night, she had been unable to think of life as anything but incredibly fragile. Her father shared that view in many ways.

"Excuse me, my Lady, but your father wishes your presence in the main hall." A timid elven servant popped her head around the door to speak to her before entering properly.

"Anon Amelia, tell him to wait until I have finished this!" She snapped back at the girl. The servant scurried out. It was not that Habren was inherently cruel. She found that people were more amenable to her when she was waspish with them compared to her soft-worded but imposing of figure cousin Kayleigh; the firm, slightly rough and tumble Alfstanna; even the melancholy, timid Delilah had difficulties having her point made without stating it until hoarse in the throat. Of course, there were not any rules stopping her from stating her opinion and it was hardly her fault if others took her opinion to mean facts.

Habren placed her tapestry on the hoop down, brushing her fingers on the silken threads that made up the colourful flowers in the linen stretched inside. It had been something her mother taught her, how to sew, embroider and darn until her fingers and thumbs were callused and her eye sharp for imperfections. She wondered why her father would send for her rather than just coming to the sitting room where she sewed, looking out the large windows.

"Ah, my darling, I'm sorry if I disturbed you but I have some unfortunate news," her father said without fanfare as she entered the main hall. He was seated at the drinks cabinet with an inch of brandy in a ballooned glass with short, fat stem . His eyes were red rimmed and his hair greyed and tousled by his fingers raked through it.

"I'm sure it was important." She sniffed, sitting with her father at the cabinet and pouring herself an inch of the brandy from the decanter. She supposed it must be the West Hills vintage that Lord Mathuin gave as wedding favours to the men; father hardly drank brandy at all. The father and daughter sat there in an awkward silence sipping the pale brandy that smelled of tart apricots until the Arl cleared his throat.

"Gregory has died," He blurted, unused to having to talk at great lengths with his daughter, it had always been her mother and nursemaid who dealt with the girl, he simply indulged her as any father would. Thus, he was often too short or dry to her he feared. "Word arrived only two hours past. They burnt him in the old Alamarri style off on a raft on the Waking Sea that evening."

Habren did not blink, staring at her father, searching for a hint of fallacy on his face. Bann Gregory Fargate, despite his age, was one of the pillars of the north. He had seemed immortal, his skin wrinkled as if he had always existed, permanently a fixture in her life even if it was a distant one. It was as if someone said Teyrn Loghain was sick or Arlessa Isolde had lost her accent! How could the north of Ferelden continue without the Bann? "You are lying, no?" Her tone was more accusatory than she expected, dark and low, her own strange hurt evident.

"Unfortunately not my dear," He smiled weakly. "He's… Maker's sakes the man still fought alongside Bryce, Eleanor, Rendon and I during the Rebellion. He was hard as nails, more than twice our age even then."

Habren nodded, knowing the story very well of how the five of them had numbered in the fifty soldiers that survived the Battle of White River, his elder brother, her Uncle Ulfric not surviving the fight or Bryce Cousland's younger sister Elissa, nearly all of the Amaranthine forces and Waking Sea having been obliterated. It was a bloody tale and it was hardly odd to find him awake in the small hours of the morning, puffing on his pipe, and staring out into the soft dawning light. "What will happen in the north?"

"I suppose Bryce has held it together well enough even as Gregory started losing his sight and memory, the north's always been too feudal. But Gregory was the peacemaker just but being alive." Her father's lips pulled into a grim frown. Habren still could not say anything, unsure what would happen in the country of her birth. While she adored Alfstanna and thought her a strong, capable woman – the heir of South Reach was not so sure that the newly risen Bann would be able to hold the north together as her father once had. Bann Gregory was a true patriarch; he held the whole as one. He kept the small ires that awoke between Arl Rendon and Teryn Cousland at bay, the minor lords looked to his experience as many would a father.

"Time will tell shan't it? I only hope Alfstanna has an easy winter and bears her own heir soon." And Habren meant it, she only wished the best for those she considered friends. She may have needled them relentlessly but when it came to defending them, she would be as fierce as possible. Not many people could she consider friend so despite any malicious comments, they were always going to be as such in her mind, no matter the distance or circumstance.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	4. Crippled

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Dragon 9:28**

**Crippled**

The winter had seemed uneventful, a bit of early frost on the cabbages and some harder ground than usual. Nevertheless, as most places, Highever was booming in the crafts trades. Without the sun to work under, most retreated to their homes, spinning, weaving and keeping warm as they worked. In Highever it was metallurgy that they were renowned for, brass and steel were highly sought after, as was wool. The crofters of the lands her parents were steward to bred a remarkable sheep that produced thick, soft wool in abundance over the coldest part of the year. Much nicer indeed than the Rainesfere, South Reach or Gwaren varieties which either produced wool that was little usable or very coarse. It seemed quite the time in her home Castle, busy with visiting dignitaries from Antiva that were related to Oriana. Henry Wulff, for whatever reason, had taken a mild interest in her. He was a sweet, ruggedly handsome man, with a great intelligence. Alfstanna appeared too coy regarding that though. It might be nice to marry someone where love was possible, but a matchmaker was not required!

Kayleigh Cousland might have complained about not attending the Landsmeets this year if not for her broken leg. There was something wrong about someone of her social and noble class not being betrothed or married by her age, according to popular belief, the gossip was circulating that she must have a dirty secret.

As wrong as that was, she found no reason to hate it. As a plump, tall girl, no better for her breeding in neither mannerisms nor appearance when she had been presented at court, she had found the machinations of most noble families quite distasteful. She hoped to stay out of the most of them for a while at least. Teagan Guerrin... Maker forbid her father having a change of heart about the south of the country! Fetching though the man may be, his comment while they were dancing was lewd!

Idly, she scratched the head of her Mabari, no longer the playful scrap of a puppy that had bonded to her but a powerful adult, strong forepaws and mottled tan coat. He arched his head up into her questing fingers, giving a tiny, happy whine.

"At least I have you to keep me company, eh? Who's a good dog?" He rolled in the coverlets onto his back so she could scratch his belly, his clawed feet bouncing wildly in the air and stub of a tail mussing the coverlets into creases. Nan might murder him! He yipped. "Come on then Lugh, let's take a walk." She chivvied him, leaning over to the wall where a pair of armpit crutches rested.

Another vast improvement of staying home was that she could go about in britches, blouse, and waistcoat without a second glance. Kayleigh laid the crutches on the long chair, slipping on a leather boot and strapping it around the calf of her right leg. The left leg remained in a heavy splint, the ankle forced square. It may be removed so she could wear socks but was immediately replaced again by Nan and Aldous. Oh how her tutor and nursemaid were so overtly protective of her! Everyone fell off horses from time to time, it was simply her misfortune to have Derek stamp nervously onto her calf! That had been an eventful hunt alongside the new Bann of Waking Sea and Alfstanna's husband, Mathuin!

Soon she was off, hopping alongside her faithful Mabari toward the gardens. Without Fergus, Oriana, or mother about it was a household more devoted to men. Oren and father kept a strange counsel in these times, her father the steward of the lands until his personal court ended, at which point he became jester and personal playmate of her nephew. In many ways she was jealous of the rough and tumble way he chose to play with his grandson as he had with Fergus but never with his daughter. Oren was so happy with it all though that she chose not to mention it, a good girl remained quiet outside her own mind about that which irked her. Instead, she found some solace with in the lands of Castle Cousland.

A full complement of knights of Highever remained in residence at all times, some that had been fosterlings from other noble families, squiring and training here in the north until fully grown into men and upon occasion, women, but others were promising young people from working class homes, shown skill or mettle in a way. For some it was the only way to secure a steady and thorough education.

Ser Helena Angus gave the young noble the time of day for archery training and some lighter swordplay, but often held back for fear of reprisals from the Teyrn. It was utterly disdainful to the girl who was quickly becoming a woman but there was nothing to be done about it. Mentioning the problem spiked the ire of her carers or, Maker forbid, her parents. Keeping quiet left her restless and dissatisfied.

Once alone on the edges of the great gardens, Kayleigh turned to the lumbering Mabari that in many ways was similar to herself. He was growing to full height and final vestiges of rugged Fereldan beauty, and like the dog, Kayleigh had a pedigree in her ancestry. Lugh truly was a staunch hound when the mood stuck him, a proud breed that devoted his time to his mistress. "A-ha! Ser Lugh! We finally meet again! You will not escape me this time thou cruellest of villains!" She raised the left crutch high as any knight might with a greatsword, feigning a battle with the Mabari already trained by herself to dash from side to side, dodging purposefully slow blows and wiggling his rump excitedly in the air to tease his mistress. Kayleigh laughed; one could be a true Fereldan without a Mabari. A bit of theatre in entertaining oneself was needed too, else one might go mad with sensibilities.

Suddenly, Lugh dashed quickly to the right, past her until she fell gracelessly to her bottom with her broken leg beneath her painfully. "Thou fickle hound, causing your mistress grief. Stop chasing crows, it's not in your training!" She scowled at the howling dog from her position on the floor, raising a muddied hand to her brow when the morning light caught in her eyes. A dark figure in silhouette was being harried by Lugh, oh that blasted mutt! "Get back here! You have a world of begging to do if you think this is within passable behaviour young–"

She was stopped short when Lugh lunged at the figure, obviously a knight in cloth training wear, she frowned incredibly unattractively, picking herself up without care for her leg, and hopping with only one crutch over the damp lawns as the knight yelped. "Who in the Maker's name do you think you are? Letting your blasted mongrel loose on Cousland lands!" The ginger-haired figure yelped as she drew nearer, still with Lugh hanging off the leg of his padded britches.

"Here to me at this instant Lugh! How dare you, this is one of the knights of Highever!" The Mabari seemed to unclench his jaws at hearing her voice within crutch reach, padding away timidly from the figure which was wiping his hair out of his flustered face. He looked up, a face of thunder in square, masculine features.

"Too damn right I am! And I don't need to… be… savaged… by…" The wind was lost out of his sails as he looked at the noble woman arching an eyebrow at him. His face changed from thunder to wet weekend. "Lady Cousland! I shouldn't, I mean–"

"No trouble. The mongrel, as you so called him, shan't do it again lest I deny him from my bedchamber in future," She glowered at the repentant looking Mabari, already whining into her splinted leg with the same ferocity in love as he had shown the knight, Ser Roland Gilmore, in his teeth. "Don't think those big eyes distract me. You are in huge trouble." She looked up. "I'm dreadfully sorry Ser Gilmore, I…"

The very distracting thought that his father, Bann Roderick, was looking for a bride for the young knight flit rebelliously through her mind, tingeing her cheeks a dark pink. Kayleigh worried her bottom lip between her teeth, at a loss for words. The knight had certainly grown so much taller in the past year, his shoulders becoming broad and arms corded in muscle, even his posture had improved to be regal in many ways. "It was my fault. I saw a figure with a quarterstaff fighting over here and wondered what was happening."

She felt more than flushed, wiping a stray bistre lock from her face as her inability to speak became embarrassing. Maker strike her down right now! "That was me."

The shock was evident on his face. Roland cleared his throat dubiously. "Truly? I thought perhaps it was one of the squires, I was going to entertain helping train them in the greatsword, and they looked to be a promising warrior. Nevertheless, I thought you trained in only archery. Not to sound presumptuous or anything milady."

"I'm afraid I shouldn't even be out here until I am out of this portable torture device." Kayleigh gestured to her leg with a moue of distaste and upset that it had been a mistake the knight had made on whatever skill she may have possessed. The strangest feeling of wishing to prove herself incensed her for a moment. Only trained in archery, well that would have to be amended! "But as soon as this comes off I challenge you to a duel, Ser Gilmore!"

He choked, halfway between a cough and a snort of amusement. She pursed her lips firmly, fuming. "Not to sound cowardly milady but your Lord father might have my guts for garters if I so harm a hair on your head. Intentional or not."

"Then I will send you a letter in the barracks when I am well, arranging a place for our duel to take place where my _Lord father_ will not be able to get to your guts." She set her shoulders impetuously. She felt foolish, to say the least, as Roland was a trained knight and she more or less only truly trained in archery, with mild swordplay in long daggers to help tone her physique. Of course, neither was a skill that could ever serve her well if Orlais once more took Ferelden as a province of the Empire. By the Maker she was going to train somehow so she could beat him!

* * *

It appeared that the months dragged on so tiresomely without the proper ability to walk. Kayleigh counted each day with a certain anticipation until Aldous and Nan had deemed it acceptable that her leg had healed. She stretched it out, hoping to gain the wasted muscle back on her leg soon.

Why the absurd duel with Ser Roland hung in her mind was infuriating, no man ought to occupy her thoughts so often but in so many ways she wished to beat that pompous knight at his own game. If he sought to think she was some dainty maiden of the nobility then she was going to prove him wrong! Of course, with mother, Oriana, and Fergus all returned from Denerim there was much going on regarding the planning of autumnal festivities, such as the Harvestmere celebrations and The Feast of Fools, the Tourneys and so forth. She let them to talk her into wearing some contrived dress of cream and yellow, fitted from shoulder to hip before it even allowed any movement of the body.

Of course, being so agreeable gave her time to secretly pick up a polearm and train herself, slashing and jabbing at a wooden practice dummy until she felt comfortable with the weight of the weapon, gradually picking a heavier quarterstaff then bastard sword. She could never train herself in the disciplines of the greatsword but a bastard sword was hardly as heavy or large. True, she was not trained classically, but if called upon to defend herself or deliver a blow on a ridiculously oafish and physically weak opponent, she would be fine. She hoped. It helped to work until her entire body was slick with sweat in places Kayleigh had not even thought she could sweat from. It was a world away from the education she had been given in weaponry and her usual tutelage with Aldous!

Kayleigh herself had no idea why it meant so much, it was not as if she had been slighted by Roland, he had simply said he would train the person fighting with the quarterstaff. To be honest, it was a crutch – but he had meant her! As soon as he realised whom it was, he retracted the wish to train that person. The more foolish thing had been to mention it. It riled the young noble up, pushing herself harder and harder with weights strapped to her legs from the side of her bed and forcing fatigued muscles to contact and relax to lift them with her ankles or switching to her arms.

"Do stay still dear, I have no idea why it doesn't fit any more but your mother will likely think it my fault for not taking the initial measurements correctly." The elven seamstress sighed, a pin sticking out of the corner of her mouth and a tape measure of knotted string around her waist, hips, shoulders and so forth, ready to adjust the creamy dress. It truly was tasteless but it was a hark back to the Orlesian Occupation when the residents of Highever would take part in the masquerade, but with ugly animal masks in various frightening shapes meant to terrify rather than the slim and pale masks worn by the Orlesian usurpers. The Feast of Fools was tradition. It was ridiculous, dressing so extravagantly and then donning a horrid mask. Even the Hero of River Dane, Teyrn Loghain, enjoyed it, as taking an Orlesian custom and turning it into Fereldan frivolity and savageness was quite a feat in many ways. With so much of their original culture lost during the eighty-year Occupation, it was joyous. That was why the official nameday of all Couslands was on the same date, so each would celebrate on that day. It did not matter when they were born – they were celebrating their naming.

"I don't know how it happened either, Glinda." Kayleigh shrugged lightly, ignoring the light scrape of pins around her shoulders and down her back. While doing such rigorous training her waist had slimmed considerably, muscle starting to harden, albeit very gradually, where a comfortable layer of fat had once been. Of course, she still had a certain amount of fat that softened her figure. Her shoulders had widened even more so, but rather than looking a gawky girl it seemed to suit her statuesque height and build, creating quite an elegant warrior figure, if she thought so herself. It felt terrible, lying to the elf that was commissioned each year to do these dresses as it meant more work for her. However, she could not help the way her body was changing. Even her breasts seemed to be changing, slightly smaller, firmer and perkier than they had been when she had had puppy fat, they had been conical in her presentation dress… Kayleigh tried to not think of that day and how horrid it had been.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	5. Last Vestiges of a Childhood

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Dragon 9:28**

**Last Vestiges of a Childhood**

Eventually it came to a day that was quiet; Kayleigh was able to slip the piece of vellum to Roland in the morning and had been able to steal away during the afternoon. She headed toward the abandoned gamekeeper's cabin in the sprawling lands rather than gardens of the Highever Castle. The gamekeeper now resided in the eastern part of the great trees rather than the west, for it was easier to waken at dawn. She sat down on the stump outside for chopping wood, the top uneven with axe cuttings but steady to perch on. The sun created grey shadow in the open area, the tall trees surrounding having lost their summery coats of lush green, replaced by the golden and coppery hues of autumnal leaves, a litter of the same crunching beneath the feet.

Kayleigh had her hair tied back meticulously so that no stray lock could blind her, the long bistre streaming down her back that was crossed in leather straps. Bribing the chamberlain with a few nights off, cleaning her own messes had seen to it that he helped her into the fur lined steel breastplate and trappings on her shoulders, elbows and down her upper arms as a squire would. It also assured his secrecy.

"I didn't think you were serious milady."

She scowled at the armoured form making his way through the trees, a shield hooked to his belt and a sword in sheath slung roguishly across his back. To the young Cousland, Ser Roland looked as a fanciful tale come to life of the Black Fox, a dashing bandit that would do no harm to those who were good. She tried not to blush but she did blush so easily.

"Of course I was, Ser Gilmore. Would I have sent a note to you and not shown up?"

"You could have set this up so your brother or father appeared, ready to dismiss me for unacceptable behaviour as I _have_ brought my weaponry. As I see you have too, Lady Cousland." There was an affected way he said her title that hit her ears wrong, as if it were more affront than name.

Kayleigh crossed her arms, standing up with an eyebrow raised. "And why should I do that, Ser Gilmore, but to prove myself petty and simpering?" His cheeks coloured, probably in anger but it reached his ears sticking through the light ginger hair that fell over the hard angles of his cheekbones.

"Spite? Why would any of these noble chits have any reason to target someone for their misplaced ire and frustrations?" He sneered darkly. Kayleigh grit her teeth at the thought of being called a chit. Had some noble before slighted him for no obvious reason she wondered.

"We waste daylight by talking. You came here for a duel, Ser Gilmore. As did I. Let us to it." She pulled her bastard sword with a practised sweep from her sheath on her back, lest she look utterly foolish in the execution and tauntingly stepped into the clearing, motioning to move in a circle as she had watched many duels before at the Tourneys.

Roland was quicker than she would have ever anticipated in scale veridium, the shield upon his arm within a matter of seconds and sword an extension of his arm. He lowered his stance for balance, measured, trained steps in their leaf littered duelling arena. "Shocked milady?" He quipped, a gay smile coming to his lips that was disarming true, but Kayleigh kept her grip tight on the pommel of the sword, raising it defensively as Roland moved forward, meeting her blade to blade and close enough to her that she could see the faint wisps of his breath in the chilly autumn air.

She pushed back with every iota of strength within her, forcing her jaw tight and grunting with the exertion of simply getting him away from her, the bastard sword in her grip feeling cumbersome now. A sweat had already broken out on her back and forehead but she feigned forward, lunging at the knight. Roland seemed to know every move, sidestepping the lumbering motion with a neat stride. He caught her under the armpit with the top of his shield, scraping into the tender flesh there and forcing her to keep her left arm further back to stop any more attack there. "That was a foolish move, have you never found a duel before?"

Kayleigh clenched her teeth again, staying mute to his taunting as they met again with their blades. He kept her on the defensive by the skin of her teeth, as he slashed and jabbed with no apparent difficulty, and she grunted and grit as each hit shook through the metal of the sword, reverberating in her bones. With not even breaking a sweat, Roland rapped the hilt of his longsword on her knuckles, forcing Kayleigh to drop the bastard sword with a yelp of surprise, stepping back swiftly so it did not injure her. "I think disarming an opponent is a win, is it not Lady Cousland?"

Her hair had slipped from the leather tie holding it back and she pushed it off her reddening face, cursing her impetuousness. Kayleigh rubbed her sore knuckles over her leather gauntlets. "A lucky strike, I would have had you." She glowered.

Roland raised his pale eyebrows, snorting a laugh out his nose. "Would you? Could I depart some wisdom to you milady? Upon disarming you are dead, no second shot. There is not a snowball's chance in the fires of the Void you could 'have me' after that." He blushed darkly again, redder than any exertion had done to his fair skin. Kayleigh suddenly caught why the knight blushed, feeling her cheeks heat furiously.

"I… Would you train me then?" She finally managed to find her tongue, averting her gaze from the heir of Hunter Fell. A skeletal leaf on the floor suddenly became very interesting, intensely so.

"I… I suppose I could, your skills are paltry at best, but you have the correct bearing for a bastard sword, given time. Possibly a greatsword, given more. If so, would here be all right? I still don't relish the thought of having my title of Ser revoked for this." He cleared his throat nervously, forcing his cheeks to stop flushing. Roland coughed into his curled hand.

"Paltry! I learned all that on my own! Nobody else taught me!" Kayleigh protested, though it sounded feeble even to her.

"It shows." He grinned, tense laughter bubbling from his lips. Roland pursed his lips. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Kayleigh furrowed her brows in a way she knew was incredibly vexatious to her Lady mother. "You're sorry you're teaching me a skill I might need if we become a province of Orlais again, or sorry if my noble parents notice a bruise and complain?"

Roland looked confused, a befuddlement crossing his square features for a moment. "Genuinely sorry if I hurt you. I… it's rather degrading for a slip of a girl to go and challenge a knight to a duel as if she's got a trick up her sleeve. It'd have been even worse if you _had_ won." A lopsided smile came across his features then, Kayleigh caught the warmth in the expression, feeling it radiate in her chest for a moment before a cool logic descended upon her, hating this emotive response and hating the veiled insult of calling her both immature and embarrassing.

"If that is how your mind works Ser Gilmore, thinking I am inferior–"

"I was apologizing and you think that I–"

"You implied it, and if you haven't the discipline to not hurt someone due to imagined slight, then perhaps I don't wish to be trained by you!" Kayleigh sniffed, setting her shoulders stubbornly. It was probably her worst trait, this streak that made her obstinate, impetuous, discontented, and generally difficult. It would explain how she had very few she could call friend, even fewer if you didn't count Habren as without the familial bond they might never really talk. Roland looked down from his enormous height with a stern, slightly amused expression.

"You need taking with a pinch of salt. Of course, I will meet you tomorrow, same time. I'll bring some cloth armour and we'll go through the proper stances." He smiled again in a way that said he was not to be refused.

"You're awfully sure I'll turn up. I could ask my father that I receive a proper education in swordplay and have a Master of Arms willing to give me tutelage." Kayleigh managed to counter.

"And for a father not willing to lose his little girl to combat as he lost his sister, I highly doubt it. You'll turn up, if just to attack me with that barbed tongue of yours, Lady Cousland." He walked away with a confident swagger to his steps, leaving Kayleigh in the clearing, fuming at his assumption and the fact he was probably right about her intents. That and he was right about her father, too. How she had been so blind to his coddling when her mother had been a shield maiden before their marriage! He had nothing against her learning, it was merely the thought of her hurt! While she had never met her Aunt Elissa, who had died at the Battle of White River, her father still revered his late elder sister. What a terrible feeling!

* * *

The Feast of Fools came quickly, the days flying past with daily, or as close as, training with Roland by the old gamekeeper's cottage. She had shown a strange perchance for the bastard sword over the other weaponry he hauled down to the abandoned home. It made balance with the weapon simple. A natural flair for following orders, even with her stubborn nature, meant she was constantly improving at the stances and speed at which she could move with the sword. The difference was quite drastic over her previous skill and ability to learn in archery or with daggers.

Kayleigh had never seen so much frippery as Oriana had been forced into. As only a Cousland by marriage, she didn't share the nameday with them, but she celebrated too, just as mother did. Fergus and she held the four year old Oren between them, swinging the lad by the arms in giant leaps over puddles and little piles of leaves in their short walk through the estates of Highever Castle toward the city itself. They might have had a carriage drawn for them but with the weather this fair in mid-autumn and air crisp for the last afternoon, it was almost insisted upon that they enjoy what Ferelden had to offer.

Oren wore a set of antlers, a brown velvety suit, and a pointed stag face over his own. Even under the dreadful mask Kayleigh could tell the boy was scowling a storm, Cousland brown eyes giving his mother a rather thorough disapproving look for having been stuffed in such clothing. Fergus was clad in a form fitting grey and black doublet with a pallid pink shirt beneath, a grotesque boar mask over his rugged features. It had been father's idea of a grand costume. Luckily, her sister-by-law had chosen swans for the three Ladies walking alongside a stag, and two boars.

Mother looked the definition of finery in lace with understated, soft pleats to her gown. Oriana the opposite but still beautiful, in lavish ruffles and bows. Then there was herself, with the dress that remained tight from high neckline to hip before a bustle flowed on her bottom to her calves. Kayleigh was quite taken with the swan masks this year, made with sodden vellum and adhesive then dried and painted with opaline whites and feathers. Each of the women had the feathers extending into their hair, creating the look as if they were born in the masks.

"Can I see the Rivaini circus? They say they have a bear and a lion and a… lel-fant."

"Elephant, Oren. And only if your Aunt goes with you. I would hate for you to get lost tonight." His mother sighed, a common enough sound that each was different. It was a sigh that Oriana had perfected that gave the air of acquiescence and unconditional love despite her frustrations.

"I feel too young to be an Aunt. It makes me feel like a right old crone to be referred to as Aunt Kayleigh." The woman in question grumbled, helping swing her nephew over another puddle alongside Fergus.

"Again, I want to go higher!" The toddling child cheered upon landing. With the way things were going, mother and father were walking about the city, appraising and sampling the festivities and delicacies; Fergus and Oriana would be in the city square, dancing for the night and she, she would be chief Nanny for the night, keeping an eye on her nephew. The prospect dampened her mood somewhat. Oren was sweet, and still at that point in life where everything was exciting if it involved moving.

Why he hadn't a Nanny of his own was perplexing to say the least. She and Fergus had Nan as their wet nurse, Nanny and bringer of punishments if they were disobedient whelps. It was not that her parents were negligent, on the contrary, important events and such were always spent as a family, as were evening meals when possible. They suited being grandparents better though, it fit in better with their lifestyle as they were older and more settled. In Thedas society it was the job of a Nanny to raise the children well for her employer, who often had better things to do than clean snotty noses or teach them not to wet themselves. Everyone Kayleigh knew well enough had a Nanny of some form. Even King Cailan, as a Prince had Mother Ailis, it was wholly normal to have a Nanny.

"I wonder if I want to have little snot nosed things like you, Oren. I despair for the day." Kayleigh smirked downwards, getting a miniature scowl for her troubles.

"S'not nice. Mummy says you should say nice things or not say anythink at all!" He declared with the bright innocence of a four year old.

"Does she now? What a thing to say! What if Nan brought liver and onions out for your supper, what would you say then?"

Oren screwed up his face under his stag mask, antlers lowering as he craned his head down in furious thought. "Yuck!" He finally said, happily and without a hint of confusion when that had been added to his previous comment. He had obviously thought long and hard.

"But I thought you shouldn't say anything if you can't say nice things?" Kayleigh cooed, smiling at the boy with coppery brown waves under his antlers.

"But it's liver and onions!" He protested.

"It's very good for you. Nourishing, I always eat my liver and onions and look how big and strong I am!" Fergus laughed, picking his son up with one arm but wary of the prongs sticking dangerously from his head. It may not have been the best of costume ideas.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	6. The Feast of Fools

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Dragon 9:28**

**The Feast of Fools **

The Rivaini circus had indeed been in the city, a giant, garish marquee set up with fluttering flags in brilliant hues. It boasted contortionists, sword swallowers, fire eaters, Thedas' strongest man, the oversized, foreign elephant, dancing bears and the painted faces of clowns. Yes – Oren had loved the show they put on. He whooped and clapped as each performance ended, asking nonsensical questions to Fergus every few seconds on how things were possible and finally claiming he would have a circus of his own when he was Teyrn.

Kayleigh sat in the stall, flicking her fingers at nonexistent flecks of dust on the skirts of her dress. The family had moved on but she felt nonplussed by the festivities this year, asking of them a few moments to herself before joining them again. "Bored, Lady Cousland?" She whipped her masked face to see a fox, mouth open as if lunging toward prey and wild yellow eyes.

"Ser Gilmore? What an intriguing mask!" It was the knight for sure, in her training it was difficult not to become acquainted with his physique, his posture, and mannerisms that defined the man. "Definitely in the mood for the Feast of Fools."

"The lady jabs me already and I've barely opened my mouth." He leaned over and jumped into the stalls with ease, sitting himself heavily near her.

"Would you expect anything less?" Kayleigh cooed affectionately, smiling beneath her own frightening mask. She lifted it up to rest upon her head and tilted her head inquisitively to study Roland's garb. Coppery tones and bronzed toggles and buckles on his doublet and britches made him look dashing and roguish. He looked a cunning fox for certain.

"From you milady, I would never. How are you enjoying the revelry?" He lifted his mask and smirked at her, his eyebrows waggling hilariously.

"I'm not this year. Something feels amiss, less joyous from the norm. Perhaps I'm getting to old for the nonsense of fools?" She smiled weakly, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

"I'm enjoying myself. Come to the cheese rolling competition! It's fun during the day but during the night, it's hilarious." He smiled darkly, putting his hand out in askance for her to take it. Kayleigh flushed more, taking the hand that had been training her in martial combat and pulling her mask back down lest she be recognised and ratted out. Roland pulled his own down and it was as they stood that she noticed the bushy tail poking from his belt and trailing down his legs. Her cheeks heated even more so, what a jape!

* * *

The air was cooler with the dusky skies overhead, crisper with a faint smokiness from the great bonfire held in Two Point Square, which was named so for that was where the usurpers of Highever during the Occupation, the Deux Pont family, were burned after their deaths during the revolt near the end of the Rebellion. Kayleigh glanced up the dark hill, to black figures in animal masks above with great wheels of cheese as high as their hips and wooden polearms to chivvy their cheese along in hand.

She had been to a cheese rolling competition when she was younger, still in starched white pinafores, and fiercely attached to Nan's hand. They had watched her Nannies' late husband compete with the infamous Wycome Blue, a cheese so hard you could make houses out of it. She could barely contain a small nostalgic feeling of excitement, walking amongst the crowds that had gathered to watch on the sodden grasses. The smell of sharp cheese, the vinegar and yeast of ales and old, hot wine, the meaty, mouth-watering smell of sausages cooked over an open flame with floury bread – it all came back in a heady rush as they walked through the crowds for a better vantage point to watch the racing. "Would you like some hot wine?" She asked of the knight accompanying her. The fox headed man nodded with a faint snort of amusement as she approached the urn and seller of the steaming drink in clay tankards.

She mutely held up two fingers and passed over the asked sixcopper coin cost of two tankards, feeling a wench as she carried one in each hand back to Roland. "They have a stick of cinnamon in it! How lovely!" Kayleigh smiled, lifting her swan mask to sip at the hot wine. It was slightly vinegar flavoured, covered by nutmeg and cinnamon and odious alcohol but still quite delicious in the rapidly cooling late afternoon. Roland sipped tentatively, smacking his lips together.

"Yes, one of the best this year what with the grapevines doing so well in the Bannorn. Father said with a bit more maturing the vintage will do nicely in a few years." He nodded, taking another, larger drink from the tankard. Kayleigh snorted a quiet laugh, hiding her smile behind her own tankard. There was something about having a friend of sorts, somebody who took no notice of social standing and class, merely said what he thought and knew without hesitation nor care for reprisals, at least, not to her. It was a warm, jubilant feeling to have, sharing this moment with another soul as the anticipation of the competition mulled around the crowds with the wonderful smells of homemade drink and food. Their friendship bent with the mood of the moment, with the whims of each but never broke, even if they could fling insults at times to the other.

All of a sudden the yak horn bugle sounded, the black figures atop the hill careening forward with their rolling cheeses without a worry for injury or health, toppling as they sped up to catch their cheese or whacking it with their sticks. The crowds were wild, stamping and cheering or jeering as one or another of the figures fell over or took the lead down the enormous, steep hill. Kayleigh found herself clapping and shouting along at a figure with a red scarf. He was the easiest to pinpoint amongst the increasingly muddied figures that were tumbling and crashing down as they ran with their cheeses still hurtling ahead most of them. It was euphoria, mass emotion over the amassed peoples. Roland was cheering, Kayleigh was jeering, and they both shouted the rude chants with the crowd as the first person came through the finishing line, tearing the turf up with his face. They shouted it with the people, Kayleigh not knowing the words but incensed by the crowds as the chanted toward the losers still coming down the hill as slower falls. By the third repetition, it was easier to remember.

_Why were you born beautiful!_

_Why were you born at all!_

_You're no fucking use to anyone!_

_You're no fucking use at all!_

_You should be publicly pissed on!_

_You should be promptly forgot!_

_You should be tied to a cartwheel!_

_And left to and fester and rot! _

Kayleigh bit back a laugh at such crude language, words that when she was younger she would have had her mouth scrubbed with soap for saying. But everyone was swallowing back their drinks like it was going out of fashion, so hurriedly, Kayleigh took the tankard to her lips, gulping painfully down the seemingly endless amount of hot wine. The dregs were bitter as the Void, causing her to wince but Roland clapped her on the back as she spluttered on the drink, a bright grin on his square features that spoke volumes of acceptance. Kayleigh grit her teeth and smiled back, pulling her mask down.

"Well done, didn't think you'd manage that part." He whispered into her ear, warm breath ghosting the shell enough that she shivered.

"Shush you, I want to know who won!" She shrugged him away, hating him for affecting her so when he was merely a friend and her trainer in fighting with weaponry. Roland came closer, peering over her easily with his looming height. A mud and bloodied figure stood triumphant with his cheese wheel clasped to his chest with one hand, the other up in the air in victory. The Mayor of Highever itself rushed forward, grabbing hold of the outstretched arm.

"We have a winner! Henry Wulff ladies and gentlemen, collect your winnings over by my wife!" He spoke through the yak horn bugle. Kayleigh's eyes widened, that meant Alfstanna and Mathuin would be here! Oh Maker! What if someone had seen her! What if Henry had!

Panicked, Kayleigh took off into a run with long strides considering how little her dress allowed her to move and the amount alcohol buzzing in her stomach. Roland was quick behind her, a thick arm curling around her back protectively. "Seen a ghost?" He chuckled. Kayleigh scowled at him despite the face he could not see her.

"If Henry Wulff saw me my life as it is, is over! I will be under lock and key for years, an aged spinster before I can even see daylight again!" She bemoaned toward him. "And it's all your fault, Ser Gilmore!"

"My fault! Oh really, my fault for letting you enjoy five moments of the Feast of Fools away from your family? It's not as if you got hurt." Roland glowered, Kayleigh sighed heavily, stopping in her tracks and turning to him at a standstill.

"You were right about my father! He doesn't want me learning how to fight with the bastard sword, if anything the archery was a compromise between mother and he! Sometimes I wonder if they're just waiting for me to marry and have grandchildren for them. Henry Wulff is one of those suitors they're always expressing the desire to 'get to know better'." She looked away from the knight scowling heavily, feathers falling out of her bistre hair as the wind caught them wrong. She had no idea why those words had tumbled out her mouth but in saying them, a certain freedom came. "If he saw me chanting along I can almost sign a betrothal contract between Thomas Howe or Vaughan Kendalls or even Teagan Guerrin, and I couldn't stand any of those men!"

Roland raised an eyebrow sceptically, pursing his lips in a peculiar way. "You honestly imagine a man who can run after cheese until he's black and blue cares for a bit of crass language in a song? Maker's breath Kayleigh, for someone educated you can be awfully stupid sometimes." He drew her close into his arms, rubbing along her spine soothingly. Kayleigh could not help the seething breaths.

"I'm not stupid! Why would any of those foppish brats care for a girl who..." His chuckling interrupted her tirade enough that she realised the ridiculousness of her own argument. "Did you call me by my name and not Lady Cousland?"

"What was that milady?" Roland chortled, releasing the noble girl now that she had resorted to giving him a punch under the ribs to his good humour when she did not ask of it. "Calm down. Why do you think Lord Wulff is your only option…? I mean it's not like–" This time it was Kayleigh that cut him off, mirthless laughter bubbling over her lips.

"Like what? That I'm not some milkmaid with no dowry, or not a descendant of Calenhad? They're accursed money and blood whores and I can't stand it anymore! I'm consigned to this life no matter what rebellion I allow myself, martial training or if I wanted to hack off my hair until I was bald! It's not funny!" She gnashed her teeth at the snicker and shake of Roland's head. He smiled lopsidedly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Same problem, Lady Cousland, noble chits with whimsy in their brains but a pedigree that stretches longer than my arm, I think they must collect names as some hobby. You're just the opposite, noble fops with pompous attitudes and–"

"And an impressive family history they can count back to the Black Age. It's making me sick. I'm not worth anything more to them, my mind is too mannish, my attitudes appalling, I look better for nothing but breeding wretched bundles of shit." It was so freeing, saying exactly the word in her mind rather than holding her tongue. Kayleigh was inclined to not care anymore and her kinship swelled alongside knowing Roland felt the same as his father scoured for a bride for the heir of Hunter's Fell Bannorn. "I don't have a worth besides that and I know it, Roland."

His callused fingers were under her chin then, a forceful grip that pushed her face to face with him, his pale green eyes bored into her darker green. Roland pushed her mask over her face, letting it fall in the damp grasses alongside his own discarded fox. "Maker preserve me." He whispered, lowering his lips to hers. Kayleigh hissed into the tender embrace before she melted, pliable in his arms and ardent in her attentions back with him. Roland tasted of the wine they had both drunk, smelling of woodsmoke and healthy male sweat. Her heart caught in her throat, confused and alarmed but utterly surrendered to the knight that held her.

The parted, lips trembling, fingers latched desperately to the other. "Roland?" Kayleigh breathed, unable to think of a word to say, her ire calmed to a low fizzing and her cheeks flushed scarlet. Roland averted his gaze, gritting his teeth together.

"I'm sorry." He untangled himself from her, picking up his fallen fox mask neatly and hurrying off. Kayleigh touched a cool hand to her lips, slightly swollen beneath her fingertips and her heart in her throat broke already. It sank and hardened in her chest.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	7. Askance

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

This chapter got updated so quickly because of Musicalrain. Blame her xxx

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Dragon 9:28**

**Askance**

The fire roared, crackling in the hearth and lighting up the great hall, heads of successful hunts between family shields sworn in fealty hanging alongside ancient tapestry and oil portraits on the walls. Cousland Castle hall was a striking, warm room, fit to hold guest for balls and banquets or space enough to prepare a small army. Bryce Cousland II sat at the northernmost end of the hall, a goblet of dark ruby wine half ignored in front of him and an old tome of history lay on his lap, propped against the edge of the table. His father before him had amassed a compendium of the finest reads from across Thedas and it was a love all of Bryce I's children shared; Bryce II's children had also a love for the written word. "She's looking a lot like my sister." He blurted out, the words forming bitter in his mouth. Bryce looked up from his book to see his wife, Eleanor nodding along sadly.

"I know. The spit and image of Elissa, just as Fergus seems to look more like Ulfric every single day." The Teyrna smiled sadly, picking up her own goblet of wine and taking a swallow. They had lost their siblings at the Battle of White River, where they themselves had survived amongst the fifty in total. The parents could see it more each day, how their eldest Fergus seemed to be more like Ulfric with each mannerism or smile, his easy humour, how Kayleigh their youngest was resembling Elissa with her height and build, even her stubborn streak. Elissa had been his big sister in many ways; true she had been elder but the warrior woman had towered over other women, even taller than he by an inch when she had died. Losing her had been so hard; it was still hard, ruling Highever when it should have been her, having been called a victor for his surviving White River when it had been the late Bann Gregory who had saved them with his cunning and speed of courageous action.

With everyone they lost, it hurt more. For over a year, the elderly Bann had left the world to be at the Maker's side, his own daughter succeeding him as a fair and just Bann in her own right. Bryce reached for his wine. "I sometimes wish Elissa hadn't been so much herself. That charge had been foolish from the start," His face darkened, still flushing with anger whenever he thought of that day. Their intelligence had said there would be less than half the amount of Chevaliers that had been there. "But she was headstrong, impetuous and demanded to be in the front of the charge." He voice caught in his throat. No matter the amount of retellings the smells and sounds would surface as if her were there again.

Bryce would be on his charger, Elissa just ahead of him, the fug of smoked kohl pipes, horses and nervous sweat would hang around them. The air itself vibrated with sound, whinnying and chattering until she raised her left arm. A deathly quiet would descend. Then the blood would be leaking from her eyes, her tanned skin so ghostly pale, lined with dirt and tears.

The Teyrn shook himself out of the stupor reverie. His daughter was standing at the doorway, light veridium armour with high collar worn rather than her usual mannish clothes. His throat constricted, she really did –"Father, I intend to train in weapons combat. If ever called upon to defend myself I intend to…" Kayleigh trailed off, staring with her steely determination fading as she noticed his faraway expression. There was a singular sword upon her back; he would recognise the size of the pommel anywhere. Not the same weapon, but the very same style.

"Of course, I hope you do well. Train hard my little warrior." He croaked out, blinking hot eyes clear. They looked the same, it was haunting, but for the fact, his daughter had the Bryland green eyes rather than the Cousland brown. Elissa had been a Cousland in every way, even he looked more his Voric mother in a Cousland frame. Kayleigh looked mute in shock, mouth slightly agape.

"You're looking like a codfish. Close it," Eleanor said softly. Kayleigh's mouth shut promptly, disbelief still evident on her features. "Do you want me to say no? Then you can continue with all your urging as to why you should and convince us if you like?"

"I'm good. I'll… just be going then…" Their daughter turned without another word and started in what looked like a happier gaited run than they had seen on her in a long time. Bryce looked toward the Mabari sleeping by the hearth: Lugh, Rebel and their sire Two Point all in a small pile, dozing peacefully. Kayleigh's, Fergus', and his own Mabari respectively. What he would give to have such a straightforward contentment in a warm fire and full belly as a Mabari could have.

"Wasn't the bastard sword Elissa's favoured weapon too? Kayleigh seems to have picked one up somewhere – no wonder they looked so similar. She's been training behind our backs awhile now." Eleanor smirked; she looked slyly over at him. "Do cheer up my love. She needs this out of her system."

"Yes…" Bryce sighed. He just could not lose his only daughter in the same way he had lost his sister. Let her train in weaponry but if he could help it, his Kayleigh would not see war, neither on the front lines nor against Orlesian Chevaliers.

* * *

Kayleigh pitched the bastard sword in the sod near the old gamekeeper's cottage, a scowl marring her angular features. The increased efforts she'd put into training had stripped her of a lot of fat, to an extent that even her face had changed from rounded and plump cheeked to a pointed chin with hard lines to her jawbone. Her collarbones stuck with muscle rather than soft. That was why she had decided to bid one last time for weapons training from her parents. If they had not noticed already, they would have noticed soon at the very least.

"Did they say no?"

She looked up, loose bistre hair falling over her cheek. Roland had come into the clearing they trained in; smiling weakly in what she assumed was pity.

"They said yes and I haven't the faintest idea why." She responded evenly, wiping back the portion of hair that had fallen over her face. They did not speak of what had happened at the Feast of Fools. They were friends, both unable to entertain a courtship between them and so it had become a relationship of combat training and a veneer of feigned indifference by default. Kayleigh did wish to know why Roland had kissed her, wanted to know if there was intent behind the passionate embrace or if it was the alcohol on his breath.

Roland's pale eyebrows shot up in surprise, a brighter smile flitting on his lips for a moment. "That's good isn't it? No more secrecy?" Kayleigh stood, with one hand pulling the bastard sword from the mud before palming it in both hands, moving into a crouch for the spar. Roland understood, unsheathing his sword and shield with ease and moving in reflection of her stance. The two opponents eyed each other, used to the tactics and characteristics that the other took, each looking for something different this time.

"Good? Certainly, but confusing also, Ser Gilmore." Kayleigh snorted, moving her sword in a large sweeping arc over her head, aimed for disarming him of his shield. Roland blocked it quickly, feeling the dreadful clang in his shoulder. During his time training the Teyrn's daughter, she had improved endlessly with speed, grace, and strength.

Keeping on the more defensive role, Roland jabbed his shield at the juncture between chestplate and chain over Kayleigh's stomach, rattling her armour and pushing her aback. She scowled at the heir of Hunter's Fell, upper lip showing her teeth.

"Who cares? You can spar with anyone you wish now." He grit out, narrowly sidestepping the underarm blow intended for his shield again, this time to attack beneath it. Kayleigh growled, painstakingly switching her hands on the weapon to bash the pommel hard into the centre of his own chest plate. The blow rattled through his ribs, making Roland stumble back two feet.

"So you think you're only worth my time when no other would teach me?" She huffed. Roland blocked an incoming swing of the bastard sword with his long sword, flipping the larger one out of offensive until the two opponents were a few yards apart, breathing heavily, poised to go back to the fight. "Damn you, Roland!"

"When milady attacks me equally with sword and tongue I assume myself a poor substitute for a proper tutor!" He snorted like an angry stallion, playfully making figures of eight in the air with his long sword to taunt her. "Or is that not the case, Lady Cousland?"

She took the bait, taking a wide overhead lunge at him that he backed away from with no difficulty, causing Kayleigh to have her sword firmly in the hard mud. She hefted it out with a grunt and swept low hitting him unprepared in the calf. Roland cursed under his breath, pulling the bruising limb in protectively. "I can't believe how obstinate you can be!" She uttered darkly.

"Obstinate I? I daresay that's the pot calling the kettle black!" Roland spat back. Kayleigh narrowed those dark green eyes dangerously, starting to pace the circle with him, calculating if he knew her. Her lips were pinched together in an impotent glower. "Not a retort to that?"

Kayleigh simply set her jaw, mute to him. Roland feigned with his shield toward her face for the Teyrn's daughter to catch the purposely-clumsy strike with her sword. His long sword swiped at the chain-clad side, forcing her into a more defensive bearing. He carried on lunging and thrusting, compelling her to parry with the large weapon, a sweat was breaking out over her forehead, tendrils of hair sticking to her and cheeks rosy. Roland shook a lock of ginger from his line of sight knocking Kayleigh onto her back with a particularly impressive crack of his pommel to her stomach. She laid there, sword abandoned and flustered, panting and expression hurt.

All they did was hurt each other, amiable in some moments before they soured and barbed words would shoot between them thoughtlessly.

Giving into the chivalry he was brought up with, he sheathed his sword and shield, extending a hand out. Kayleigh glanced at it unappreciatively, taking the proffered hand to stand straight. Half-rotted leaf litter lined her leather straps where they had dampened and stuck to her. "Come here, you look a state like that." He sighed, gesturing for Kayleigh to turn about.

"You haven't the right to care what I look like, Ser Gilmore." She uttered through clenched teeth. Roland restrained the urge he had to kiss her senseless, it was a futile attempt at what he had wanted to do ever since he'd seen her at her presentation, having noticed how she was a rose in blooming. A bitter rose, but nevertheless, and he had spent time since then in her company, seeing Kayleigh develop into a woman that set his body ablaze and his head into sheer rebellion of revulsion. He could not, he should not, and yet he wanted to. Roland wanted to yank the straps of her armour off, strip her of the underpadding and caress every inch of her angry body, nipping and soothing at the frustrations that arose in her.

And it exasperated him to hear her say 'Ser Gilmore' in her plumy tones, knowing that when she slipped up and called him Roland that it was what she wanted to say, that she was purposely trying to spike his ire. It was why he deflected her with Lady Cousland and milady more often than not, simply to return the cheap shot. "So if you look battered by a savage when you return you can cry my crimes? Think how quickly your newly found rights to training could be revoked." Roland snorted flippantly. Kayleigh glared at him through her eyelashes, cheeks staining dark and a shiver settling into her jaw.

"Don't speak of me as if you truly think me that way." She neared closer, defiantly jutting her still shivering jaw. A similar shudder set fine through his centre, making the knight avert his gaze.

Without thinking, Kayleigh grabbed him by the square jaw, forcing him to meet her glare. What she met with was his pale yellow-green eyes, deeper than she had seen before. The resentment washed from her, at least for him, shame at her fluttering pulse filling that gap as she closed the space between them, leaning up on the balls of her feet to lightly brush her lips to his.

The had not spoken of the night at the Feast of Fools, not spoken of how he had so emotionally crippled her in suddenly stealing her first kiss then leaving with an apology that meant so little at the time. Therefore, she stole it back. Roland pushed back, intent to bruise as his hands sought her shoulders, holding her in his gauntleted grip tight, keenly nibbling at her bottom lip, soothing the sharp pain with his tongue. A lump formed in Kayleigh's throat, despising this strange sensation he wrought in her, hating both of their places in the world that forbade anything greater to come between them. Softly, with a pucker of wet lips they parted, she whet her own, trying to think of something to say and tasted him there.

"I can't Kayleigh; don't fill this head with imaginings that could never occur." Roland closed his eyes, leaning his head forward until he leant to her forehead, relying on her strength mentally and physically. Kayleigh doubted she would have enough.

"Then why do you do this to me? Steal my first and curse my second?" She whispered gently, feeling the warm spirals of his breath over her flushed face.

"I can offer you nothing." Roland sighed.

"I ask for nothing more."

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_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	8. A Different Education

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Dragon 9:29**

**A Different Education**

At twenty years of age at her last nameday, Kayleigh Cousland truly had become a woman, inches taller than both her parents had although still slightly shorter than her elder brother. The last fleeting signs of childhood had fled her body, the chubbiness, and rounding of shoulders that she had adopted as to not loom gone. In place wide shoulders, a sculpted waist and angular contour to her face, a proud posture due to her weapon instruction of late.

With no secrecy to the mannish disciplines of combat she undertook, it had allowed her to put in more time, more effort, and more focus into honing her fledgling skills to something passable as proficiency with her chosen bastard sword. The Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever had seen no quarrel with continuing to have Ser Roland Gilmore as her tutor in the subject of such, his knowledge with tactics and familiarity with all styles of weapon made him a fair and capable teacher.

Not that it was all the knight taught her. Kayleigh left for their secluded training area, stocked with provisions in her pack for the day, a ginger and honey tart, two jars of stew, secured tight and a large canteen of brandied water as well as the obligatory elfroot potion and tincture with gauze her father had negotiated for her to carry. She came out into the weak sunshine over frosted landscape that was late winter, coming into spring.

The air was fresh, the faint horse smell from the stables carried through the clear air, and wet timber of the surrounding trees. The young Cousland had not been so contented in when felt like a long time, trying to contain the smile that threatened to break over her face and give the game away as it were.

"Lady Cousland!" She turned her head sharply to the voice, hair falling over her shoulder guard. Roland was mounted upon a bay stallion, an Antivan Barb that was part of Oriana's dowry and a rather impressive, powerful horse. He waved with one hand, gesturing with his head at the stallion following him on a lead, her own Tevinter Pacer, Derek – whom she had named so ridiculously much to the chagrin of anyone who heard the name. The Tevinter Pacer was a slimmer horse, with sinewy muscles bred for speed and looks. To her, there was no point in naming an animal something other than one would name a being; hearing Habren cooing over her fat cats with names like Fluffy and Twiddles had grated on her childish mind. "I thought we could skip the training today and simply ride?"

"I would be delighted, Ser Gilmore, but you may have to wait while I change into something less heavy, I shouldn't like to strain Derek over much without need," She smiled crookedly, passing the pack up to him. Roland let go of Derek for a moment, slipping the wide strap of the pack over his shoulder. "I shall be back anon, Roland."

"I await you with utmost impatience then." He replied smartly, a coy grin on his features. Since they had become more than friends, they were much better friends, jabbing each other and knowing better when one was joking or the other should be taken with a pinch of salt. Acidic barbs between the two had become quarrels that lead to passionate kissing and much more.

Kayleigh hurried into soft linen riding britches, high leather boots, cream blouse and tweed waistcoat as quick as was humanly possible once in her bedchambers. She pulled her loose hair into a high, sleek ponytail and secured it with a pretty lacework silver pin. She glanced into the Tevinter silver backed glass, smiling sadly at the woman in the mirror. Kayleigh had changed a lot in recent years, lost a lot of her previous softness and curves and her parents looked at her so forlornly. She was not so uneducated to not notice how she resembled her Aunt, as she existed in portraiture, which had died before her birth. If the artist had been a dab hand that could have meant she resembled Elissa Cousland much more than previously thought. She sighed, pulling her waistcoat straighter and loped back out into the weak sunshine of the spring day.

She mounted the Tevinter Pacer with an adept motion, having ridden since she had been able to sit on a saddle. Roland smiled toward her. "So where to today, milady?"

Kayleigh blushed up to her ears; it was vexing that he insisted on being so proper. She had fallen for his mere company, his complete candour, his mulish, opinionated, and utterly infuriating temperament, and most importantly, his fresh view of equality amongst all. There were days when they were too tired or sore to spar and they sat with the food and drink brought, waxing lyrical over intelligent pursuits, moral and religious debate and the nature of the mind. He stimulated her in ways that never left her unsatisfied and it was so thrilling, Roland had captured her very essence and with him, she was no longer solivagant. It was different from speaking of such with her tutor Aldous, with whom she was glib at times. "Perhaps a canter through the woods, then we can eat lunch in the gamekeeper cottage and return in the late afternoon?"

"I think that would be quite enjoyable." Roland had a dimple on only one cheek, which crinkled as he spurred the Antivan Barb into a neat trot. Kayleigh tugged Derek's rein a fraction, so they could ride abreast, undulating with the horses and chatting amiably, eventually coming to the topic of wealth.

"I say that there is a large disparity between those who choose between coal for the fire or food in their bellies and those who work day in, day out for a pittance so they can have both." Roland sighed, looking about. The wooded area that surrounded the Cousland Castle was still in the ephemeral state of frost that clung to the bare wood of the trees, puddles, and emerging wildlife from hibernation. "For once, what happens to those too lame or old to work? They're faced with these decisions all too often and the work is back-breaking, if they must."

"Charity is important, true, but should be deserved. All with title, including knights, have an obligation to those in their service for more than ten years in that they must provide a liveable annuity when they become too feeble to earn a wage." Kayleigh squared out her shoulders. It was very true. There was much reason for such laws too, with the average age rising with increased knowledge of sicknesses and medicine and increased literacy in the general populace. Some just couldn't work to their late forties when they died; they were living to ripe ages into their seventies and eighties, too feeble to provide themselves with their basic needs. "That's the reason for taxation, not just the pay of law enforcement and transport of products into an area but to help those less fortunate."

"And how much lines the pockets of those who find loopholes? Those who sever the employment of their knights and staff after nearly ten years or find ways to make them work until the day they die. The taxation of the many pays for the vanity of the few. For example, the elven community, most in the Alienages will work through their pregnancies, through illness and disability because they cannot afford not to and their citizenship, nay, even lives are worth less than a human is. They work until they die or they die from not working and it's a cruelty when we are supposedly such an equal society." Roland could tirade over such subjects until hoarse, it was a wonder to watch him in these moments, so uninhibited. So many ignored the intellectual or stayed from such conversations.

Kayleigh stuck her tongue in the edge of her cheek, thinking. She had been brought up around and by many elves, they had been the staff of the Castle and as adept as any human. It was difficult to think beyond the secluded world she lived in sometimes but she endeavoured to do so. After all, one day she would likely be arranged into a marriage with someone in considerable power, a Teyrna or Arlessa in her own right. It was a horrid thought that nothing could come of her dalliances with the man who nourished her soul so that she kept company with now but such as things were. "We try to think of ourselves as faultless and that by creating laws we encompass all when it is the nature of people that should be changed. The problem lies in the fact that the cruelty is invisible to those not affected and therefore can be ignored without thought or meaning to. Is that truly cruelty on behalf of those in power or is it mere negligence?"

"There is nothing mere about negligence when people suffer," Roland said darkly. "But how would you propose to enlighten people in power to the abuses regularly forced upon a portion of the population for an accident of birth?"

"In the case of elves, would it not be good practice to go into the Alienage? To give more money to help with anything they need?"

"Oh yes, parade their lives for your pity and create a cycle of casual observers and recipients who see it as helplessness in the elven community. Good intentions seem that way, Kayleigh, but the truth of it is much more complicated sometimes." There was a way he spoke that gave her the shivers, affirming the way she enjoyed his company more than anything else. He did not constantly verify her views but challenged her, and it was fantastical.

"Then a minimum wage for all, human, dwarven, and elven with a capped price for taxation of basic and luxury goods according to wage. Higher penalties for racist actions such as vandalism and refusing to sell to certain races – imprisonment would do no good for individual, family, or society and fines can cause resentment so community service would be fair. It may even be good practice to include the Alienages and poorer neighbourhoods in knighthood training, why exclude elves or those too poor to afford a Chantry education?" She said, watching him cautiously. "And does it truly serve anyone to disallow the training and tutelage of what could be one of the greatest minds or strongest arms? They say the Maker created all, and all was equal. So why should we impose something other than what He intended?" That was probably Mother Mallol rubbing off on her, Roland himself was religious, attending chapel in the castle frequently, his prayers beautiful if spoken aloud and heard.

"It's a start. Education and a good working wage are the foundations of what should be a fairer society. One day, people will look back on the thoughts of today and say that such things were stupid, they are basic rights, and rights needn't be debated upon, simply given." He smiled softly, leaning from his horse to take her hand and press a gentle kiss to Kayleigh's knuckles. She giggled in pure awkwardness, feeling her cheeks flushing hotly.

"I know I've said it enough times but should you ever feel it you would be a stunning politician." Roland scowled at her for that comment.

"Oh yes, the most hated and poorest of the lot, those who need the help don't have a vote for mayors or those to speak to their ruling lords. It's bad enough that one day I shall have to become a Bann, I thank my lucky stars and the Maker quite frequently that I shall never have much to rule over."

"Most men would covet such a place, even so lowly over what existence they have. Each man is a King in his own lands, his word absolute unless the monarch finds it overtly wrong." Kayleigh reminded him. While Hunter's Fell was hardly large and the political influence of his inheritance minimal at best, it was higher than most could dream.

"Then let them covet, the greatest of us I believe never wished their responsibilities foisted on them. Teyrn Loghain is a fine, noble man by nature rather than blood and I never have a doubt that should the Occupation had not been a fact of life, such nobility would have never been seen."

"Your point of view is hardly common yourself." Kayleigh reminded the knight. Roland smirked knowingly, pulling the Antivan Barb to a still by the old gamekeeper's cottage as the sun started to climb high in the sky. He dismounted with a kindly pat to his horse's bay rump, tying him to the fence beside the cottage. He put his hand out in offer for Kayleigh but she ignored the chivalry for a moment of pique, simply to slightly annoy him, dismounting on her own without any trouble.

"Be that way; see if you get my gallantry as often." He sniffed in feigned hurt, Kayleigh snorted softly, pulling her waistcoat and blouse straight. He pulled her close by the small of the back, planting a tender kiss to her lips. Kayleigh rested her arms on his shoulders, fingers threading into his jaw-length ginger hair as they melded together. He pulled away breathlessly, fervour burning in the depths of his pale, mossy eyes. Kayleigh sucked in a deep breath of air through her teeth, feeling all the heat in her body sinking to her lower stomach. Roland chuckled deeply, leading her by the hand inside the cottage.

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_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	9. Lessons Too Late

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Please don't stone me for this chapter. My name is *slightly* self ****explanatory.**

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Dragon 9:29**

**Lessons Too Late**

With the spring Landsmeet drawing closer Kayleigh felt increasing anxiety, if this would be the year that a betrothal would be hatched for her. A frown marred her features whenever she thought of the whole business; it was a more chilling prospect with each passing day. Still, she was a dutiful daughter born and bred; personal sacrifices had to be made. After all, she and Roland knew what they had been getting into.

Yet, as the days grew longer and the nights receded later, she heard no word from her parents about attending herself. Perhaps it would not be this year. Kayleigh could but hope for another year of unattached life and she knew it was a fool's wish. Life did not wait and Arl Gallagher Wulff would want his elder son married soon. She could not stall else she be married to some poor match.

With impatience for what might come and in hopes of preparing herself properly for it, Kayleigh strode into the large hall of the castle, dressed as she always did in her mannish attire rather than dolled like some prissy, inane girl. Her breath caught at the sights of her parents sitting with some of the Arls of the country. Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine, Arl Gallagher Wulff of West Hills and Arl Urien Kendalls of Denerim, sitting at the long table, drinking merrily and chatting together. Maker's breath, it was as if they had chosen but one option that would ever be acceptable and two that would disgust her. A rabbit caught on the crosshair of a bow she startled, feeling her face flushing. At least Arl Eamon Guerrin was not in attendance. It had seemed with the Wulff family marrying into the northern family of Fargate they were honorary allies now, her father entertained the very southern family as friends.

Kayleigh gulped, trying to think of a way to open a dialogue that did not seem impertinent or timid. She would not be bullied by the relatively higher wealth and political influences of Amaranthine and Denerim, and neither would she allow her parents to think of a match with them. West Hills and Henry Wulff it would be. She swallowed thickly, feeling the bile in her mouth and a lump forming in her throat.

"Ah! Here's my darling daughter, do come here, Kayleigh," Her father smiled toward her, notice the presence of his youngest child sooner than she expected. Straightening her back, she sauntered in, sitting carefully at a vacant chair. "I have wonderful news for you!"

"I do hope so father, terrible news might put a dampener on today. Bann Alfstanna and Lord Mathuin should arrive on their route toward Denerim for the Landsmeet." She said evenly, taking note of the twitch that pulled at Arl Howe's lip as she had mentioned the rulers of Waking Sea. Obviously, he would have said something about them. Rendon Howe was outspoken about his likes and dislikes, and as Nathaniel and Delilah had often told her, he was very strict. He likely didn't care much for the way Mathuin allowed Alfstanna so much freedom, being the Bann rather than demanding to rule as her equal. It was sad that she not had spoken to either in such a long time, but she might have to spend time nearby their brother. Thomas was horrid. Arl Urien was a picture of carefully crafted nonchalance. Arl Wulff smiled warmly.

"Yes, Mathuin sent a letter ahead saying he had good news and to make sure there is a place set for them at supper as they seem to be making good time." Gallagher played with his fingers on the stem of his wine goblet, looking pointedly toward Kayleigh. Her breath froze in her lungs. This was it.

"Good news all round then, I think that would be indicative of a bit of a celebration?" Urien smirked, raising his goblet. The table all raised theirs on high. "To good news!"

"Good news." Kayleigh gulped back as the elder generation swallowed their drinks in the toast. Her teeth were gnashed together so tight, she could hear the squeak of her bones. She forced herself to remain impassive.

"Yes, so I was about to say. You know Henry?" Her father looked so pleased with himself. Dry-mouthed and still trying to not show any emotive response she raised an eyebrow.

"I should hope so; your son is he not Arl Wulff?" She laughed nervously, trying to quell this horrid bubbling in her stomach. Henry Wulff was handsome, a kind man and very much like his brother in views. They were both quite lovely men, but he was not Roland. She damned herself for having fallen for the knight and at the same time could not envision her life, wretched as this situation was, any other way.

Gallagher barked a short laugh, a splutter of wine escaping his lips onto his napkin that he raised quickly. "I should bloody well hope so!"

Everyone laughed politely for a short while. "What I was trying to say, my glib little pup, was that Henry has invited me to go to Orlais with him while he studies at the University in Val Royeaux. A two month visit and I can try to repair some of the ill feeling they have toward Ferelden, perhaps act as envoy for King Cailan and get some valuable trading contracts made. Would you like to come with me? Fergus plans on staying behind to get a better feel of ruling the Teyrnir while your mother goes off to the Landsmeet and I thought you might enjoy it."

Her stomach flipped. "Pardon?" Kayleigh could scarcely believe her ears. Her father going willingly to Orlais, no wonder Arl Howe looked so sour. She was surprised the other survivor of the Battle of White River hadn't started an argument in all honesty. "It's rather a shock. Why not the University in Antiva or Nevarra? I hear the Markham University is rather extraordinary when scholastic endeavour is concerned."

Her father chuckled. Just what in the Void was going on? "Ah pup, our quarrel with Orlais needs to be peacefully resolved. Ill feeling just allows us to further hatred, besides; I believe Henry is studying history and none of the others is quite as old or prestigious."

"I might send Vaughan with you; get some intellectual ideals in him." Urien smiled. Kayleigh shuddered; it was well known that Orlesian nobles were worse than Fereldan nobles were by far. They called their politics 'The Game' and death was simply part of that. The Feast of Fools was a mockery of the fact they never went out with bare faces, one had to wear a mask to be worth anything in Orlais.

The last deciding factor in her disgust over Orlais was that the nobility thought themselves chosen by the Maker to rule and that allowed them free reign in whatever they wished. The reason the Fereldan Rebellion had been so successful was because the Orlesian nobility had taxed for vanity, had raped and murdered for fun and there was no good reason for it regardless. "I'll have to decline father. Orlais is hardly to my tastes; perhaps I will go to the Landsmeet with mother and get out of Fergus' hair? Or I could continue with my combat training?"

It might be good to catch up with Habren, Alfstanna and even Delilah too, or spend a few more halcyon months with Roland. Orlais did not appeal in the slightest. A frown pulled at the edges of her father's face and Kayleigh felt herself crumbling in acquiescence; somebody would have to make sure he would not come afoul of the Game of Orlais. "I'll go. I can get to know Henry a little better and maybe pick up some studies of my own."

"We'll be leaving when he arrives, then. I'll have the servants start packing some things for you." Her father smiled affectionately.

"You should be careful Bryce, a woman with a bit of brains it difficult to control." Arl Urien smirked. Arl Howe looked at him with fleeting agreement on his features.

"No wonder your little pup is so difficult to predict sometimes." He said lowly, taking a sip from his goblet of wine. Her father, for all his good graces chuckled but her mother shook her head sadly. They must have been having an argument at the moment, Highever and Amaranthine were two peas in a pod politically, the two families with a bloody past together were friends. It was sad but had that not happened between Delilah and herself? She really must mend ties there as animosity could lead to much worse.

Kayleigh flushed, what good was intelligence if not used? Should she hate being born as she was because it would limit her or rather break a mould she was forced into?

"My Papa likes to be kept on his toes, keeps him sharp as he gets into his old age," Kayleigh laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek and pushing the straining thoughts out of her mind. She read into things much too much sometimes. "But I should get on with my lessons with Aldous and Ser Gilmore, I shall see you all when Alfstanna and Mathuin arrive."

As she went to leave Arl Gallagher beckoned her over, clasping her hands in his much larger ones, soft callused, and creased as they were his grip was strong. "I look forward to seeing how you and Henry get on. Mathuin hadn't much of a courtship but… well I can hope." His dark brown eyes were heartbreaking and joyful, a combination that stuck her as so depressing. Kayleigh swallowed thickly.

"We can hope." She echoed. Not what they would hope for was mentioned but she doubted whether it was the same. Gallagher pat her hand warmly, letting her go about what she would.

Once out of sight and earshot, Kayleigh broke into a run, flat footed and desperate. She needed to run; her throat was nothing more than a heavy lump, mouth dry but eyes hot and wet. Marriage and Orlais, Maker preserve her but what had that all been about?

Father hated Orlais, or at least could never forgive the country for taking the most of his family from him during the Rebellion. He had been the last Cousland, his elder sister and parents dead from the fighting of Chevaliers… so what was going on in his mind?

She gnashed her teeth and bid herself not to cry but why did everything have to be so wretched? Kayleigh Cousland was not some simpering little girl, attached to her Nanny's apron strings, dull-witted or irrational. She knew there would be a day when her young romance would remain as that. Without thinking, she ran straight to the old gamekeeper's cottage, throwing herself into the ruined armchair by the dead hearth, drawing her knees up to her chest and clasping tight to her legs.

Kayleigh did not cry, not in front of others or in her solitude. She would know, the Maker would know the weakness and that would not do. Instead, she took deep, calming breaths, hoping to calm the wild beating of her heart and the distressed flush her cheeks had taken. A knock, three sharp and two soft broke her from the selfish, pained position, unfolding to open the door that had locked as it slammed.

"I saw you running…" Roland trailed off. Kayleigh dare not even look directly at him, desperately trying to ignore the way she wanted to close the distance between them. How he could affect her so, forbidden, as she knew it would soon be. It was better to break things off now.

"Hello, Ser Gilmore," Kayleigh managed, hiding her upset quite well. His demeanour softened, a hand reaching toward her cheek. "Don't."

His hand was warm, hard pads of his fingers seeking along her jawbone. "What's the matter?" Roland cooed a lopsided smile on his square features. Her breath caught in her throat, brow furrowing. "Kayleigh, speak to me."

She kept her mouth firmly shut lest she utter something dreadful. They both knew what would happen sooner or later and it was a cruelty to each other if they continued. She knew it and he would know it. "I will be going to Orlais shortly."

"And you're worrying that the Orlesians will get you? Oh is this what you're all upset about? As long as the Hero of River Dane stands the Orlesians stay their rapiers." His chuckle was kind as he tried to close the gap between them. He made no secret of his idolisation of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir. Kayleigh turned her face away. Roland let go of her jaw, his features darkening somewhat and mouth a grim line. "What's wrong?"

"I'll be going with father and Henry Wulff, partially to accompany father but… but also the start of a formal courtship." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, damning her mouth for simply telling the truth. That was what this was and she had no allusions to it being otherwise.

Roland stood there; the hurt was evident between them. The air had turned chillier, the easy smile he had worn gone in place of a slack frown. "I see. Then I wish you all the best, Lady Cousland." His voice was coarse and broken. Be still her aching heart but it was too much to abide. With no option to the miserable situation, Kayleigh pitched her arms around his shoulders. This would be a last, bitter sweet goodbye between lovers, she and her knight.

"Let us be Kayleigh and Roland for one last time. I cannot stand this either." She whispered. Roland closed his expressive mossy green eyes, looking away a shiver settling over his body that she felt.

"Then you could have said no. You often forget that despite my position being so lowly it is nobility nevertheless. All the same, your atrocious arrogance as a noble bid you to do what you never wished. No, Lady Cousland, what once happened will remain as it was. Do not taint what we had with abominable pity."

She watched him walk away, heart breaking over again with each footfall. Though nothing he had said were untrue. That was probably what hurt all the more.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	10. The Dispassionate Man

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

**Please don't stone me for this chapter. My name is *slightly* self ****explanatory - I MEAN IT!**

There is a double update today though. Then the last chapter! Will it end happily or sadly... mwahahaha!

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Dragon 9:29**

**The Dispassionate Man**

The journey over the border, and to the country that had once held Ferelden as a province for eighty years, was nothing but uneventful. Dreary conversation on history and about the ruinous structures they passed in the carriage dragged on the further they travelled.

Kayleigh tried. Maker she tried to remain interested or at least feigning interest in the conversations, idly stroking Lugh sitting on the leather seat next to her and making the appropriate signs of listening intently. The more she listened, the more she ached. Homesickness, hiraeth, for his arms and sincerity burned deep within under her veneer, nostalgia for what she should never have possessed and to what she could never return.

There had been good news indeed, when Alfstanna and Mathuin had arrived on their route to Denerim. Alfstanna was four months into a pregnancy, only showing slightly the starts of a bump on her flat abdomen. It had been her funeral dirge, the scattered herbs that would be thrown to her pyre to sweeten the air that smelled so bitter. Kayleigh's time had run out now, her choices were to leapt forward into the bonds of marital life with Henry Wulff, or to end up in something that would always be loveless.

"So Kayleigh, what was your stance?" The question directed straight at her broke her from the trance sadness that was slowly consuming her. She looked back inside the carriage, the fug of breaths, luncheon of pickles, ham, and cheese and her father's kohl pipe filled the space between the three of them. The conversation, although it had been largely ignored filtered slowly into her conscious thoughts as her was looked at expectantly for an answer.

"Man should raise himself up but he should not be denied the tools to do so by a lowly station or accident of birth." She said plainly, blinking owlishly at the two men in the carriage. Henry smiled weakly.

"Very interesting, but what if you gave the tools to a man who would be a criminal with such?" He asked, tossing the waves of his curly brown hair behind his shoulder. His deep brown eyes seemed to bore into her.

"Then he was given the same chance as either of us, Henry. We were never denied our education or anything else we ever wished yet you could wax lyrical that through a fault of blood, one of us is more dangerous than a man who never had the rights to our privileges through his birth. It is not in the realms of our duty to judge a man before he has done a crime, it is a cruelty to deny a man what he should have as a right. We should not debate the giving of rights – they are rights, not luxuries." Her father chuckled and Kayleigh cast her eyes downward, stroking Lugh on his ears. She hadn't meant to be so barbed and acidic. It just twisted maliciously inside her to think how different Henry was to… Kayleigh forced herself not to think of her brief love affair. Her father likely just brushed it all off as his spirited girl affirming herself in front of a relative stranger. The Wulffs of West Hills were fairly new political allies.

"I see, when I was told you were rather intelligent I hadn't expected so much so. Alfstanna does have a talent for understating such things, though." Henry smiled weakly, turning back to her father. "Your grace, what is your personal stance?"

Kayleigh drowned out the conversations again, uncaring of what they spoke of as her fate was sealed regardless. The gentle motion of the horse-drawn carriage lulled her over-active mind somewhat, the air growing chilly as the afternoons dragged on, the insistent patter of rain overhead as they slept and nights lonelier than they had ever been.

* * *

Val Royeaux was as ostentatious as had been expected, except it was worse in many ways. It grated on Kayleigh's sensibilities to wear the delicate mask over her features as a code of conduct rather than as a jape at the Feast of Fools. She gulped, she would not think of that day no matter how much she wished to punish herself. She walked ahead her father, beside Henry as they made their way through the capital of Orlais, each soaking in the architecture and culture around them. Henry had been here before but neither Cousland had.

It was so foreign, the strange sounds of enunciation that lisped on Orlesian tongue that surrounded them, even the vermin birds that peered down off high gargoyles and statues looked to be judging the alien, barbaric arrivals. Kayleigh shuddered, keeping her mouth firmly closed and pace quick.

She would just remain inside the house they were staying in, a distant relative of the Wulff family from the beginning of the Occupation, when their ancestors had raped and gotten with child half the surviving Wulffs. Most families in Ferelden could claim as such but no so many Orlesians were keen to repay the crimes of the past. The Orlesian part of his family ancestry had died out however so the inheritance had passed onto them. It was still law in Ferelden that a raped woman had the choice of marriage to the same man, his death by hanging or that his right hand was taken. Henry held his elbow out and begrudgingly, Kayleigh took it, feeling a true fool.

"I hope to see the Tourneys at the Academie des Chevaliers, I hear the joust is the most brutal yet skilled anywhere in the world." He mentioned lightly. Kayleigh smiled grimly.

"Then perhaps I should accompany you, lest you get roped into being the second of a fallen knight?" She tried to remain light-hearted and not so sullen but it truly was difficult. With a deep, calming breath she managed to remember that she would be married to the man whose elbow she held to, and that would be fine. It would have to be.

Marriage was not romantic; it was similar to a business. In time, love might blossom but the start would not be easy. Henry chuckled. "I am a fair horseman; we should take a jaunt in the surrounding countryside. I'm sure it could be much fun."

She nodded. I could be, whether it was, was a completely different story altogether. "How are you and father getting on?" She asked casually, Henry's eyes started to light up.

"Splendidly, I hadn't realised what a lovely man he is." The heir of West Hills chuckled deeply in his throat. Kayleigh smiled politely beneath her mask, her father was a lovely man when you spent extended time in his company or else he might come across as overtly paranoid and indulgent. He seemed quite at ease with being in Orlais to be perfectly sincere.

"Oh that's good to hear." Henry smiled at that, leading her up the steps of a grey façade building, ornamental topiary bushes, and crawling vines about the small courtyard in the front amongst paved slabs of stone and excessively pruned trees. It made them look bloodless. She soaked in the peculiarity of the place, likely drawing on Henry's arm more than previously intended, with the crippling inner fear of something so unlike what was known to her before.

"Larochelle Hall. Technically father owns the place but it's a private art galley more than anything else. What do you think so far?" Henry asked. Kayleigh gulped, suppressing the automatic urge to be scathing over the frippery of such a place. It was no secret that the Alienage of Val Royeaux was overcrowded so much that a stiff plague would wipe out half of the elves before anything happened. It was greedy to have so many places of residence for purposes of narcissism, especially abroad that could have been sold and the funds put to good use.

"Quite artful in structure. Are the pieces inside as beautiful?" She asked placidly, remaining blank faced to stop herself from frowning horridly.

"Some of the finest. I shall give you the tour." Henry pushed the door open.

It was dark inside because the wall lights were far and few between, flickering dully in the opulent burgundy papered walls, wide and thick with plush carpeted floors. A servant or small staff resided inside but did not take very good care of the property on the inside by all observation.

The smell of Larochelle Hall was dust and old mould, a certain dampness and it hit the nostrils strongly. Kayleigh wrinkled her nose, covered under the mask as it was. Henry shook his head. "It looks like we may have to wait a while until it's been aired out. Maybe we should walk about the marketplace and grab a spot of something to eat before coming back?" Kayleigh nodded. "Bryce? What say you? Would you prefer a short nap in the rooms while it's aired or would you like to join us?"

Oh, Maker's sakes they were on first name terms! Kayleigh's throat constricted painfully. "I should let my dear daughter have a bit of freedom; I'll see you both later. Maker knows you're both probably sick of my constant company." He smiled warmly, pausing on his way past into Larochelle Hall to shake Henry's hand and give Kayleigh a quick embrace. As he went, she could faintly hear his shock and delight at what paintings or sculptures he saw.

"While we walk it may be best to speak with you candidly." Henry sniffed, offering his arm again. Kayleigh sighed and took it, following his lead.

* * *

Walking beside Henry, the hotter Orlesian sunshine pouring over the high, angular, deep green hedges that trimmed the estate, Kayleigh could take nothing but bitterness in her mouth. It was wrong to hate someone for a situation neither could do anything about. However, in that instant, Kayleigh hated Henry Wulff with a fiery passion.

"I suppose you're wondering about the secrecy." He smiled weakly with a shrug of his shoulders. In many ways, the Wulff family were carved from the same wood – tan with hard masculine features, broad shouldered and tall with a certain natural shape to them that made them look strong. He had large hands, working hands even if they were softly callused. Even her own calluses were harder than that.

However, unlike the rest of his family, Henry had softness to his features. His jaw was not as squared and his shoulders sloped like a scholars. Even his long chestnut curls, tied back off his face gave him a docile air about him. "I had wondered a little." Kayleigh admitted.

Henry chuckled quietly in the back of his throat, deep and rich in the sound. Upon the isolation of the small gardens, they had both discarded the ridiculous masks so it was easy to see the charming happiness on his face. "Your father is a very nice man, much nicer than my father thought a new political ally would be."

"He is. Did you truly wish to speak about our fathers, Henry?" Kayleigh laughed nervously, cheeks flushing in the heat. Henry seemed to take no notice of that.

"I have spoken to your father and, I hate to be so forward but I would be honoured to have your hand, Kayleigh." The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. The heir of West Hills turned to her, stilling them from their walking, taking her hands in his and looking earnestly down to her. Henry's most important attribute was that he was so much taller than she was.

It was not romantic. Love was not part of a marriage but it was possible mutual affection could come between them. Kayleigh smiled bleakly, training herself not to blurt something unpleasant because it was neither the proposal of juvenile imaginings nor the correct man asking her hand. Without heed, her eyes watered, "Of course I will. That would be delightful." The words spilled out.

In that instance, she knew her life would not remain the same. Henry's smile in return was gentle, caring, and sweet, his fingers curling softly under her chin. "May I kiss you then?"

Dumbstruck, Kayleigh nodded. Henry was rather old-fashioned in many ways, clever and solid in his self but befuddled with the opposite gender. He was not passionate, not wilful with his opinions. If it was possible to hate Henry for that, Kayleigh did. He was the exact sort of person her parents would adore, who she was expected to marry.

His kiss was tender, nothing but the most delicate of touches, his softer callused hand slipping into her loose bistre hair as if supporting her head. As they parted, she looked to him, hoping that her heart might start soon, that the awful wintriness that encased it might melt for him.

Yet nothing was forthcoming. "We should tell your father so that a messenger can be sent in time for the Landsmeet to approve." Henry sniffed, moving back so that they carried on walking in pace.

"Why do you want to marry me, Henry?" Kayleigh asked, abhorring the reasoning behind her mouth running ahead of her brain. It would not lend to happiness to hear what he would surely say. A declaration of love would be wretched in not being reciprocated and cool logic would be too heartless. It was nothing more than she deserved though, for discarding Roland as easily as she had.

"You're rather attractive, intelligent, and courteous and would you not agree that it would be beneficial to both our families?" He said, dispassionately. "They must be similar ideals that drove you to say yes?"

"Certainly, you're a fine man Henry; I can only hope we will have some modicum of fulfilment together." Kayleigh justly loathed herself in that moment. Henry had been right, what drove her to say yes other than the unfeeling whoring of blood, money, or politics? She was no better than any other and it damned her.

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	11. The Grand Game

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

There is a double update today though - if you haven't read chapter 10 - go back now! Last chapter/epilogue tomorrow/soon!

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 11 – Dragon 9:29**

**The Grand Game**

The grand balls and masquerades were an environment that Henry and her father seemed to come into their own. Voric blue eyes and Wulff brown would sparkle at the arrays of intricately designed buildings and sculpted gardens, chattering together like old friends. They both had similar tastes in art and literature.

At least there was that. Kayleigh trailed after the two men, hoping against hope that this had all been a fevered dream and that she was home again, a wet cloth to her forehead and Roland still, she hated to admit it, but loving her. She loved him.

Knowing that she had thrown away something special and meaningful, that could have been more hurt, it hurt that she was what she despised in a noble. In being her own ideals she was found wanting.

With a need to be on her own she stepped out into the cool of the evening, the night soaking up the heat of the day, the smell of rubbish covered by sweet perfumes and small flies hovering in the still air. The disparity between the rich and poor was startling in Orlais.

The gardens were beautiful with their shadowy depths, layers of grey that lengthened past mortal sight, deep whorls in the bushes where roses grew in their pruned topiary. The Marquis' gardens were calm too, away from the revelry and sheathed vitriol of the masquerade itself. Kayleigh raised her mask, breathing deeply and leaning against the mottled lime and bluestone railings that decorated the edge of the gardens.

"I thought I'd find you out here, pup." She smiled weakly at the childish nickname upon his lips, a slight slur to his voice that came from the sweet wine favoured this eve.

"Hello father. I'll be back inside anon." Kayleigh dismissed him, wanting to be solivagant for a moment. It was her natural state of being after all.

"You're not happy. I just thought to tell you Henry has decided to entertain the face of what I believe to be a bard." The genuine shock and pain in his voice, for her father had liked the man was enough to snap her out of the stupor of staring endlessly at the dark gardens. Kayleigh turned about, the sinuous, heavy material of her dress swaying around her ankles. His face was apologetic, but he was oddly blunt with her at times. She trained her face as neutral as possible, but if it wasn't for the thought of having to marry this man she would still be warm in the circle of Roland's love.

"I see. Many women share their husbands with a mistress or two – I would hardly be the first or last." She gulped. The Queen of Ferelden could do it, it was hardly impossible for her. May the Maker preserve her self-worth though, she had only been proposed to a mere week ago. Nevertheless, she had well and truly made her bed now, she may as well lie in it.

"They do, but not my daughter and if you must know the details, not a mistress!" Her father had fire in his eyes to her impassiveness; he pulled her into a tight, squeezing hug. He smelled of his pipe tobacco, coal tar soap and the cologne he had bought in the _Belle Marché_ of Orlais, woody and sweet. Kayleigh shuddered, wondering why she had let this happen to her. It was all well and fine whomever Henry wanted, if it was her, another woman, a man, elf, dwarf, or human. Yet, that she had allowed herself to be put in this position! Her bottom lip trembled and her fingers dug into the brocade of his velvet doublet. She would not cry. She would not!

"I can't do this. I cannot. It sickens me more each day to be nothing other than an expensive cow to the world to see." Her father hugged tighter, soothing a hand up and down her back. It felt juvenile, nonsensical to need the physical embrace of her father to beat back the monsters of reality but it was comforting nevertheless.

"Well it's a good thing I never sent that letter off. Come inside, have a dance with your old man, and forget all this for a night. I've seen you become happier then heartbreakingly depressed and can't help but think it my fault for bringing you here." He pulled back, wiping the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones. Kayleigh closed her eyes. For one night, as futile as that would be. Her father honestly thought it was being in Orlais compared to her inner turmoil that affected her so, and she would let him believe it. What other choice did she have other than to declare her love affair with Roland?

Nothing was easy as it appeared on the surface.

* * *

"I say. You are the King aren't you? Fine figure of a man, I always said." For the second time that night, Kayleigh was shocked at how the Orlesian nobility cared nought for exactly who they had held in slavery for eighty years less than thirty ago. Even thinking her father looked anything like Cailan! Although, it could have been a comparison with Maric as they were cousins after all. The resemblance between King Maric and her father though was as keen as the one between her and Habren. King Maric's father and Bryce II's mother were siblings.

The Teyrn of Highever chuckled weakly, looking everywhere but the face of the Marquis Julien de Tremmes. "That's very kind." Technically, he was not lying, Cailan was as fit as a butcher's dog with the royal masters at arms and having to keep on the legacy his father created as a warrior. It still left a bad taste in her mouth though. To the untrained ear, it was her father declaring that he was the King.

"I saw you having a good, how do you put it, eyeball at the tapestry of the Battle of White River. It's all yours if you want it." He sipped his wine thoughtfully, probably thinking himself awfully jolly and generous in front of the buzzing crowd of wasps that surrounded him. Kayleigh inched away from them. The Game, as Oriana had mentioned, was all bravado up front, secret knives in the back and appearing the best in front of peers. One baroness cut her hair off and sold it to a wigmaker so her servant could have hair after being caught in a fire. Therefore, another baroness would order all her staff to do the same. Never let it be said that the servant was caught in the fire because the original baroness fled at the sight of flames, locking her doors so tight the elf was burned.

"Very generous." Her father hmm'ed, he had enjoyed the tapestry but he had been shocked to see the very noticeable horse at the front of the Fereldan charge. A horse and female rider, sword held up high. It may have been artistic licence but he had never seen such a thing so jarring in art. He toasted the host with a singular raised glass.

"Do make a note that the King of Ferelden is to take the White River Tapestry upon leaving my little soiree tonight. A diplomatic gift to our Fereldan neighbours." The Marquis muttered on instinct at the page that followed him. It was obviously a common enough occurrence that he felt generous during the course of such carousing. The scrawny elf jotted it down in painfully curly handwriting on the vellum he carried, following after the Marquis and his _entourage_ as they swept over to the fountain of wine.

Who had heard of such a ridiculous thing as a wine fountain! The poor bugger who had to pedal beneath to work the pump probably knew all about it!

"If I'd been a bard I would have assumed you were trying to take the Fereldan Throne." Kayleigh said slowly, mulling that over. For all she knew it was true. He had been one of the contenders for the crown upon King Maric's death over his own son! Arl Eamon Guerrin had been a vicious politician those dark days. It had been the first time a younger woman had been to the Landsmeet and she say the prematurely aged Arl speak with such passion and clarity. True, she did not like him but his intelligence was admirable.

"Good thing you're not a bard then. I'm almost certain the tapestry has your aunt immortalised on it." He leaned over, the scent of the ruby wine strong on his breath. Kayleigh scrunched her nose. "It's that lovely? I haven't seen such a lovely tapestry before, maybe the Marquis is an example of how Orlais is repentant of the past!"

Kayleigh wished she could shake her head and tsk like her mother at times like this. She knew her father was using the wine as a crutch to stand on in Orlais, a social _faux pas_ to not partake and needed so old memories of the Occupation did not resurface. It was heartbreaking to see it first-hand. Her parents were distant perfect figures for much of her life so to see her father so uninhibited and exposed was a heart-rending blow. "I think it may be time to retire for the night. I suppose I will have words with Henry come the morning but for now father, I'm looking out for you."

The role reversal was rather poignant in many ways. Kayleigh would not consider herself more evolved or mature than anyone else, in many ways she was trapped in the vicious circle of nobility and retaining old blood. Still, he leaned on her arm as she ferried him from the festivities, feigning a stomach illness for their departure.

There was one certainty to Kayleigh in that instance. She was the ruler of her own life. She need not allow others to say what was right or wrong because, it was her internal moral compass that should guide her. Who should care for a good marriage but those in it? If someone took offence to her personal choices, to use a more colourful phrase, they could roll in the mud and finger themselves!

* * *

_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_


	12. Broken & Whole

**Author note: **The wonderful cover art is by the talented Chenria over on Deviant Art - go check out her fantastic pieces.

It's over! *weeps* The third from last line is a quote by Christopher Poindexter than I enjoyed very much!

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns all, except my soul.

* * *

**Chapter 12, Part One – Dragon 9:29**

**Broken**

Her mind had been set on it as soon as she stepped on Highever turf once more. No matter the cost to her family or self, it was worth it. For Roland and her own sanity, lest what could be, never would. Kayleigh sat in the old gamekeeper's cottage, awaiting her combat tutor with barely restrained impatience, each second feeling like a Void of timelessness where it simply did not pass.

Maker's blood, it hurt knowing how easily she could just run into the castle barracks and declare all sorts of foolish, true things. Nevertheless, she had to do it this way. Public humiliation and rejection would be a high price to pay for both family and self if life indeed turned out that way. While she wished, nay, prayed that this wasn't a foolish endeavour – it could possibly be the case.

The knock at the door, if it could be, sounded cold – detached. Still she rushed to it, straightening out her shirt as she went. Roland's face was thunderous, serious, and silent to her. It broke Kayleigh's heart to see him so, that she possibly caused his pain even worse.

"Good morn Roland," she said softly, hoping not to let her anxiety show, but already her cheeks felt hot, a sure sign of her deep blushing.

"Lady Cousland, or is it Wulff now?" The knight responded tersely, curtly nodding his head. "I was instructed that you still wished combat lessons?"

It was pathetic, utterly wretched but Kayleigh honestly felt like crying at the venom in his voice. "Cousland, thank you very much." The words formed acidic on her tongue, a natural scowl marring her features as she stepped out into the wooded clearing. She had not brought her weaponry today; she did not wish to train but to talk. Kayleigh cleared her throat, trying to remove her bitterness but for a moment to speak candidly.

"I take it your time in Orlais was pleasant?" Roland remarked, keeping his posture stiff and backing away as to be a minimum of five feet from her.

"Terrible, to tell the truth, but enlightening," An ironic twist formed on Kayleigh's lips, hardly a smile nor a frown. "I realised a great deal of things and…" Her bottom lip wobbled, the words drying from her mouth. It was just so difficult. It should have been the easiest thing to say in Thedas.

"You haven't brought your armour or sword. If you've called me from other duties just to spite me in your presence you needn't have." Roland snorted angrily as he looked inside the darkened cottage, glancing threateningly back at her with his expressive mossy eyes. How his eyes told her it hurt him so much to be here, as much as it did her.

He made to walk away; stance choppy and rigid and the words tumbled out without neither heed nor concern for eavesdropping. The first time the words had ever passed her lips. "I love you. Damn it, Roland, don't go!"

The ginger haired knight stopped in his tracks, not even the telltale movement of his shoulders to prove his breathing. The fear and dismissal coiled unbearably in her stomach and mind. Kayleigh could feel his barbed words. "Was that enough for you before, Lady Cousland?" His voice was so even and emotionless that it was chilling.

"What need I do, debase myself on my hands and knees for your forgiveness? I don't ask that Roland, I know I was wrong. I was an utter boor but I ask that you know that I love you." Her chest heaved, bile coating the inside of her mouth but the words had come out now.

Roland turned so slowly it was as if he did it on purpose. His face was a finely crafted mask of nonchalance; even his eyes were dead and unreadable. "I asked a question. Is that enough for you?"

"Yes! Andraste's flaming arse, yes it is! I have never been surer of an answer in my life; I feel nothing but wretched churning fearfulness for your arguments that I am a fool who realised much too late what she had were enough, more than enough!" His face broke then, a deep furrow forming on his pale brows and a frown spoiling his square features.

"You are, Kayleigh. It was made abundantly clear to me that you are too high a class for my lowly station and I too common to entertain the notion of a relationship. I am no more than an affair to you. You say you love me but what can either of us do?"

A lump formed heavy in her throat, slowly she padded to him, speaking breathlessly in no more than a whisper. "I will do anything. Ask and it is done."

"Your prerogative," Roland hardly breathed, his skin was pallid, a sweat breaking out on his brow that she normally associated with strenuous training or the carnal pleasures they had shared. "I have nothing I could ever give you but myself, I find myself at a great disadvantage to ask for much milady."

"Then I would give up all that I am, I would abandon my family and this miserable honour that shaped and forced this between us." Her whole body vibrated with nerves enough that Kayleigh bit on her tongue to stop her jaw from shaking. She was brought up to believe wholly in duty and service to the Maker and her family. Both should be content with her chance at happiness.

Roland was silent, closing the minute gap between them until she was in the circle of his arms. Her shivering increased, a stabbing ache twanging in her heart. She was undeserving of him but Kayleigh found she was selfish in this. "Your nobility is a part of you, not your blood or family. Never give up who you are." His breath ghosted the contours of her face. They fell into comfortable silence for a moment. Roland gulped. "I highly doubt I am worth what you would lose in deserting your life now."

"You aren't. You are worth so much more. That is why the decision is so easy and why I was such a dense fool to not realise that." Kayleigh surrendered, leaning her head forward onto his collarbones.

"Then how could I not gladly say I would give my life for a chance of yours? You infuriate me beyond measure, you're stubborn, you're passionate, you're just so wonderful, and many other things I could list for so long. I love you too." Their kiss was desperate, heart-rending, a duel as much as they did with swords or words.

* * *

**Chapter 12, Part 2 ****– **Dragon 9:31

**Whole**

The morning light was dim, yet she was wide-awake. The night was sleepless for Kayleigh, even Roland's warm arms around her couldn't help her drift back to the Fade, to the land of sleep. She sat by the new fire in the hearth, darning a patch in the elbow of her husband's shirt. To imagine such domesticity when she'd been presented at Court!

Life was difficult on the island of Alamar, off the Ferelden mainland – incredibly so. The salty air made certain crops difficult but the grasses were perfect for goats to graze, for chickens to scratch, and they were close enough to the sea that fish was a common food upon their table. However, Kayleigh would have changed nothing about her life.

True, she was upset about her helplessness in her family's murder at a man she had assumed ally. Nevertheless, Rendon Howe lay dead at the hands of the Hero of Ferelden. Word had arrived that Fergus was named Teyrn of Highever, her brilliant sister-by-law and endearing nephew dead.

For how remote they were, news still travelled of the darkspawn resurgence, about the mage lead the charge to slay an Archdemon, of King Cailan's death and the subsequent way a bastard child of King Maric, a man named Alistair had taken the throne alongside Habren. Kayleigh wished she could have seen her cousin, a Queen! The Maker had a sense of humour indeed! In many ways, her vapid cousin deserved royalty and in others, she sympathised with the unknown new monarch.

It was a matter of argument in her humble house about going back to the mainland, to lend their sword arms to the reclamation of Highever, to the Blight, or to attend the symbolic funerals of her family. In the end, circumstances had made it impossible to get a boat back to Ferelden. Perhaps one day, it was cruel to leave Fergus all on his own and never know…

A piercing wail broke the calm of her rustic home. Kayleigh put her darning down, hurrying into the small bedchamber. The sound came from bundles of thick crochet blankets and linens, a pink scrunched up face making all the noise. She shushed the crying babe, babbling nonsensically to the boy to calm him.

Just short of a year in age, he was getting larger, with small white teeth that he clamped eagerly onto her crooked finger. She pat down his shock of dark ginger hair but the self-renounced noble ruffled it again as she rocked him in her arms. Kayleigh held him, feeling every second of hardship melt away as his chubby arms held onto her nightgown. "What was he crying about now?"

A smile broke the warm contentment of her features into jubilant joy as her husband entered the room, still in sleeping clothes with hair mussed. "Just teething pain, I should see if the elfroot is mature enough to make a little salve with some of the whiskey." He kissed her cheek softly, ruffling the messy hair of their child tenderly until it spread like a halo around his little head.

"I suppose you're giving your Mama a difficult time on purpose. It's all attention seeking isn't it? You _know_." He mockingly told the babe off, giving his wife a caress of the small rounding of her stomach. Kayleigh blushed affectionately, Roland still and always would have the terrible effect of making her blush.

"How is Junior supposed to know anything?" She jabbed playfully. Roland chuckled, stretching as he went to the basin and jug to wash his face. He shook the water off, splattering it on the floor. "I cleaned that just yesterday! Honestly! If this next one's a boy I'll start praying for a girl just to keep me sound in this house of untidy men!"

"But you love me, or has that changed?" He smirked. Kayleigh snorted, shaking her head.

"Not one day goes by that I regret anything. I do, more so with each passing day." With Junior successfully calmed, falling asleep again on her breast, Kayleigh laid him back into his cot. Her two Rolands and a second child on the way with the man that had captured her completely, if there was more contentment in life, it had passed her by. Her children would be very close in age, but siblings were the greatest friend one could have.

Her mother always did say that when she met the right person she would want children. It simply took her too long to realise that he'd been standing in front of her. That and she didn't make her feel as if their child were simply to ensure blue blood didn't die out. Roland made her feel loved in every way.

Of course, she was still very independent and some traits of personality and thought remained, as they always would. It was probably what drove her to use what education in the natural world Aldous had given her, to cultivate the gardens of her home to grow the healing herbs and plants that made her a highly sought after apothecary on the rugged island. She didn't rely on Roland any more than he relied on her. They had a wonderful, equal partnership; married in the ancient stone Chantry here on Alamar by Mother Josephina. A coy smile crossed her features as she crept up on her husband.

"How long have you got until you need be at work, Ser Gilmore?" Kayleigh purred; the sun was only peeking a dazzling burnt orange over the edge of the sparkling horizon of The Waking Sea. Roland turned about, taking her in his arms.

"As long as I need, Madam Gilmore." It was very true, as the Captain of the small guard on the island he could turn up late without fuss. She shouldn't keep him too long but it was nice to spend a little more time in the early morning with him. Roland kissed her sweetly; his love was all that she needed in that moment. It was enough, more than enough. He pulled her into their adjoining bedchamber, the both of them laughing gently as to not wake Junior.

After all, they were just humans, drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal their brokenness. It was the lesson that life had taught them. That their other half made a whole, leaving small cracks at the join but they were the right fit regardless.

**The End**

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_Beta'd by the fantastic Meli Landry. Thank you so much!_

_**And a big thank you to all who have read, reviewed and enjoyed this story! This really was a labour of love to complete due to horrific problems with my memory (I have a brain condition) hence why I finished it before posting anything.**  
_

_**Also, technically it's a re-write of my first ever story on this site "The Blood Red Rose", which got re-written thrice with "Together We Stand", "As Duty Demands" and if you can believe it "Desideratum" (all deleted now). So the fourth time's the charm! A word to all who have a character they can't do justice just yet - wait a while, it'll come to you eventually and it'll feel right.**_

_**And before you leave, yes - I have planned one-shots and other stories set in this universe. Chronicling the tale of The Warden, Hawke, The Inquisitor, and other characters (Fergus!).**_

_****__**Leave your last review... they all mean so much to me!**_

_**Much love,**_

_**Apollo Wings - KnaveOfAngst **_

_**xxx**_


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